The Case of the Macabre Mansion
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: The Peterson mansion, located in the San Fernando Valley, is anything but peaceful. But this mystery is far deeper than Hamilton, Perry, and the rest originally thought. And when Andy tries to outwit the deadly Vivalene, the danger only intensifies.
1. Mignon

**Perry Mason**

_**The Case of the Macabre Mansion**_

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters from the series are not mine. The other characters and the story are mine. This is the Halloween piece I mentioned. Mignon Germaine, played by Fay Wray in season 8's **_**The Fatal Fetish**_**, will be a supporting character. Also of note is my own character Vivalene, whom I like to bring into every one of my major fandoms eventually. All of the main **_**Perry**_** cast will appear, of course, but just as the episodes that introduced us to Mr. Burger's oneshot friends, this story will open by first showing scenes with Mr. Burger before bringing in the others.**

**Chapter One**

Hamilton Burger sighed, leaning back at his desk as he pushed the gruesome photographs away from him. For both the district attorney and the police, spooks came out year-round, not just on October 31st. However, it did seem that a particular brand of nut enjoyed coming out during the Halloween season and committing the most outlandish and outrageous crimes. The unsolved murder he was looking at now was one for the history books. It would be all over the news tonight.

The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Burger? Someone is here to see you."

Hamilton frowned, coming to attention. "Who is it, Leon?" he asked. He was not expecting anyone right now.

"Mignon Germaine, sir. She says it's important."

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "She wouldn't show up here if it wasn't," he mused. "Tell her to come in."

In a moment the door opened and Mignon entered, calm and collected as always. Hamilton stood, coming from around the desk to greet her. "Well, this is a surprise. What brings you here, Mignon?" Now that he was closer, he could see the concern flickering in her eyes.

"Hamilton." She kept her hands clasped in front of her. The light caught the glint from a dark ring on her finger. "I came to see you about a matter of grave importance. Do you remember Howie Peterson?"

Hamilton blinked. "Your godchild? Of course. Sit down, Mignon." He indicated the chair next to his desk. She took the seat and he perched on the edge of his desk.

"Something strange has been happening lately," Mignon told him. "Yesterday Howie came to me saying that there's a spirit in their house."

Hamilton was unable to keep from looking amused. "Is that what you came to see me about?" he asked. "I'm afraid I won't be much help there."

"I know you wouldn't," Mignon answered. "No, that isn't why I've come.

"I went with Howie back to his house, but I didn't feel the presence of a spirit. I did, however, witness some suspicious events that could be a mortal's attempt to make it look like a spirit is in the house."

That was still weird, but at least it was more believable. "Do you have any idea who would want to do something like that?" Hamilton asked.

"I have believed for some time that someone wants to remove Howie's family from that house," Mignon said. "It's one of the oldest homes in Los Angeles. Douglas, Howie's father, is convinced that there is something of wealth hidden somewhere on the property—perhaps a Spanish treasure. He claims he has part of a map that he is certain points to its location."

"So this someone believes it too, and wants to kick out Howie's family so they can look for it," Hamilton deduced. "Don't you have a name for this person?"

"Yes. Vivalene," Mignon replied. "She's been their next-door neighbor for the last few weeks. I've never liked her. She's cordial enough, but it feels fraudulent."

"Vivalene, huh?" Hamilton reached for several files on his desk. "That's a pretty uncommon name. I prosecuted a woman named Vivalene about three years ago for jewel theft. She got off easier than she should have." He still wondered why the judge had sanctioned such a decision. It had crossed his mind that perhaps the judge was crooked, but he had never been able to turn up any evidence against the man.

"It wouldn't surprise me if it's the same woman," Mignon said with disdain.

"I don't know how much time we can set aside right now," Hamilton said, looking apologetic. "There was a graphic murder today that we're devoting most of our time to. But I can have Vivalene investigated. If she is responsible for what's happening at Howie's house, my office will find out."

"Thank you." Mignon rose, looking more at peace. "I realize you have matters that seem more critical to tend to, Hamilton, but I would greatly appreciate this. My godson and his family could be in danger."

"I understand." Hamilton stood too. "Oh, what kinds of things were happening at the house?" he wondered. "That could help my men know what to look for."

"It was typical of some kinds of genuine spirit activity. There was a traveling orb of light, mysterious whispering, and several cold spots throughout the house."

"I see," Hamilton said. "So there wasn't one particular place in the house that anything focused on?"

"No," Mignon said. "The orb was downstairs in the foyer, up the stairs, and along the second-story corridor. The whispering was heard in several rooms on both floors. The cold spots likewise were scattered."

Hamilton nodded. "I'll have my men try to get to the bottom of that as well as whether Vivalene bought supplies that could have created those effects," he said. "Did you look for a tape recorder or some other audio device that could have played the whispering?"

"Yes," Mignon told him. "We found nothing."

"Maybe it's inside the wall," Hamilton said. "You said it's an old house. There could be several secret compartments."

"That's possible," Mignon agreed. She started to turn away. "Thank you, Hamilton. I knew I could count on you."

"I can't promise we'll find anything," Hamilton hastened to say. "I can only promise we'll do everything we can. Ghost-busting is a little out of our league."

A slight smile tugged at Mignon's lips. "If the spirits were real, I assure you the problem would be far greater than what you could handle. I'm confident you can solve this."

Hamilton watched her departure. Shaking his head, he walked around to the other side of the desk and sat back in the chair.

Mignon was a woman he had never quite been able to figure out. They had been friends for years, long before her son Larry ever became an assistant D.A. in the office. She had always been a very composed, aloof person, someone Hamilton considered as being intelligent and level-headed. And yet she was a full believer in such things as voodoo and spirit trances, things that Hamilton could not even begin to take seriously.

He frowned. Then there was the story she had brought him today. He did not like the thought of this Vivalene woman being involved in what was happening at Howie's house. Yet on the other hand, if he could prove that she was guilty she would surely get a proper sentence, unlike three years ago.

Of course, that was provided that the same judge would not preside over the case. The previous hearing against Vivalene was not the only time the man had behaved in a strange and suspicious manner. And yet in every case there was an alternate explanation for his decisions. There was never a way to make it conclusive that he was corrupt.

He stood, reaching for his hat off the coat tree. He would send a couple of men to go over Howie's house with a fine-toothed comb. But he was going to personally take a bit of time to pay a visit to Vivalene.

xxxx

The old neighborhood was peaceful, at least upon initial glance. The streets were lined with deciduous trees, which, due to the shortening of the days, were turning a wide array of colors in the late October afternoon. Hamilton remembered the tall, strong maples that stood on either side of the Petersons' house.

He pulled up in front, glancing to the mansions on the right and on the left. Mignon had not mentioned which side Vivalene had moved into, but he had picked up that information before leaving the office. The house in question was to the right. A small hill sloped upward in the yard, adding to the mysterious feel of the place. Yes, it seemed like something Vivalene would like—if she was the one Hamilton remembered.

The next moment confirmed it. A woman with thick red hair ambled out of the house, walking down the hill to the mailbox. There was no mistaking the innocent yet suggestive steps. Hamilton moved to exit his car.

She looked up with an easy smile. She had known he was there when she first came out of the house. That was obvious, although she wanted to pretend otherwise.

"Well, Hamilton Burger," she purred, brushing a strand of hair out of her eye. Her deep, aristocratic tones had not changed. "It's been such a long time, hasn't it."

"Three years," he answered. "What are you doing back in Los Angeles?"

She shrugged, leaning on the steel mailbox with crossed arms. "It's a lovely city, really," she said. "Frankly, I missed it."

"You mean you missed what you could steal here." Hamilton's voice was flat and unbelieving.

"Now darling, I'm crushed," Vivalene pouted. She stood up straight, never taking her gaze from the district attorney as she pulled down the flap of the mailbox. "I can't believe you came all the way out here to see little old me. You certainly made it clear three years ago that you couldn't stand the sight of me. Unless . . ." She batted her eyes. "You've changed your mind."

Hamilton laughed in derision. "Don't flatter yourself. Actually, I came here to check on the Petersons next-door."

"Oh?" Vivalene raised an eyebrow as she dug through the mailbox for the day's haul. "Friends of yours?"

"I know the kid's godmother," Hamilton said. "She told me something strange has been happening at their house." He watched Vivalene carefully for her reaction.

She barely reacted at all. Instead she shuffled through the mail. "I _have_ been hearing odd sounds from over there," she said.

Hamilton folded his arms. "What odd sounds?" He had no idea if she was even telling the truth. But for now he would play along.

She shrugged, closing the mailbox. "Moans, groans, the occasional scream." She looked up, blinking at him in faux innocence. "Do they need a permit to open a Halloween house?"

"Is that what they're doing?" Hamilton returned.

"Well, what else could it be?" Vivalene paused, mulling over the matter in her mind. Then she stepped closer to the sidewalk, dangerously near to her prey. "Surely you haven't decided to believe in ghosts."

Hamilton stood his ground, unaffected. "Not a chance. What I've been hearing is that someone might be trying to scare the Petersons out of their home."

"How dreadful." Vivalene gave him a sultry smile. "I do hope you catch them, darling."

"Can you think of anyone who might want them out?" Hamilton queried. Trying to get any real answers out of this vague woman was giving him a headache. That was something else that had not changed.

"No one at all." Vivalene took a step closer. "I don't associate with them much. You know, I don't like children."

"That doesn't surprise me," Hamilton returned. "They probably don't think much of you, either."

"_Touché, _Mr. Burger. _Touché._" Vivalene turned slightly as if to leave. "If that's all . . ."

"It's all. For now," Hamilton added.

"Then I'll just be going," Vivalene said. "I have some letters I need to answer."

She turned back, lightly tapping the brim of his white fedora with the edges of the envelopes. "I can't see your eyes with that hat's shadow falling over them," she complained. "You always did have very nice eyes." With that and a last smile she turned away, sashaying very deliberately up the hill.

Hamilton narrowed his eyes, tugging his hat back down as he turned to travel up the sidewalk. He had learned enough about Vivalene in the past to know that she was hiding something now. What it was, however, was anyone's guess. The next thing he needed to do was find out whether Vivalene was the only one to attest to moans, groans, and the occasional scream coming from the Petersons' house.

Riley and Hanley, his investigators, were talking with Howie Peterson on the porch when he climbed the steps to the old house. Howie, who was rocking back and forth and seemed shy, turned to look his way. Instantly he perked up.

"Hi, Mr. Burger!" he chirped with a wild wave.

Riley straightened, looking to Hamilton with a shake of his head. "Now if that isn't a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn," he said. "We could barely get two words out of him."

"It's just that I know him," Hamilton answered. "He doesn't handle strangers well."

He looked to Howie. "Hello, Howie. How are you doing? Your godmother told me something strange has been happening at your house."

Howie nodded sagely. "It's ghosts," he said. "Well, nobody thinks so but me. But I _know._" He crossed his arms, not leaving room for argument.

"I see. And how do you know, Howie?" Hamilton asked.

"Just 'cause." Howie glanced back at the house. "It's scary in there now. I don't like going in at night, even when Mom and Dad are there."

"Do your parents ever talk about moving, Howie?" Hanley joined in, hoping that Howie would open up more to him and Riley with Mr. Burger there.

"Nope. Well, I think Mom kind of wants to now. Dad wants to know what's going on. He thinks like Mignon, that someone's pretending."

"But you don't think so," Riley said.

Howie shook his head. "It's ghosts."

Hamilton gave an inward sigh at what he was about to ask. "Doesn't your godmother know all about ghosts?"

"Yep. And she says there's not any." Howie looked scared. "But people don't make sounds."

Now Hamilton tried not to be amused at the young boy's phrasing. "Sounds? What do you mean?"

"It sounds like they're really really scared," said Howie.

"Like screaming?" Hamilton suggested.

Howie nodded. "And then it makes me scared too."

"That's what we're here for—to try to help you not be scared," Hanley volunteered. "Can you let us in the house? We're going to look for the ghosts."

Howie looked at him in awe. "You guys catch ghosts?"

"Well, we haven't yet," said Riley, managing to keep a straight face. "But this might be our lucky day."

Howie considered it for all of a moment. "Okay!" he said, turning to open the door.

Hanley stepped closer to Hamilton. "What happened with the woman, Mr. Burger?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"It was her," Hamilton returned. "She hasn't changed. She's up to something now; I know it."

Further conversation was preempted as Howie let the door swing open. It creaked, sliding back on its hinges. As the sound died down, others took its place. Everyone could catch the faintest trace of voices, without being able to pinpoint what they were saying.

Howie scurried back to Mr. Burger. "It's the whisper people," he whimpered.

It continued for a moment more while the group stepped into the entryway. Then, as quickly as it had come it stopped without any warning, leaving the parlor as dead as it had been before the door had opened.


	2. Alliances

**Chapter Two**

Perry Mason was standing in his office near the balcony doors, dictating to Della, when a knock brought them both to attention. Della blinked in surprise.

"You don't have any appointments for another hour," she said.

"I know," Perry said, crossing the room to the door. "And Gertie didn't announce anyone."

He opened the door. An eyebrow rose when he beheld his visitor.

"Why, Hamilton," he greeted. "You don't usually drop in here. Is something the matter?" He had quickly taken note of the district attorney's uncomfortable, distressed appearance.

"Something is," Hamilton acknowledged, stepping into the office. "Hello, Della." He nodded her way, occupied with his thoughts.

"Hello," Della returned, although she was unsure if he would even hear her.

"Well, by all means sit down," Perry said, gesturing to the couch.

"Thank you." Hamilton, turning his hat around in his hands, sat on the edge of the cushion. Perry sat near him.

Hamilton glanced his way. "You remember Mignon Germaine."

"Of course," Perry nodded.

Della frowned. "Larry isn't in trouble again, is he?" she asked in concern.

"Huh? Oh! No. No, he isn't." Hamilton looked to her. "Larry's doing fine. This is something entirely different."

He turned his attention back to Perry. "Mignon came to my office today. She's afraid that someone is trying to rout her godchild's family out of their house by . . ." He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "By making it seem haunted," he finished.

That was not what Perry had expected. "And of course, it couldn't be the genuine article," he said with a trace of a smile.

Hamilton regarded him in exasperation. "Perry, surely you don't believe . . ."

Perry shrugged. "I haven't found any evidence to prove that ghosts don't exist," he said. "But go on, Hamilton."

Hamilton sighed. "According to Mignon, there aren't any ghosts in the house," he said. "I sent Riley and Hanley out there to see if they could find out what was really happening. They didn't have any luck. Neither did I."

"I see." Perry could not help feeling a bit amused at the thought of Hamilton investigating a possible haunting, even though Hamilton believed in a different explanation. "This is very interesting. But I'm afraid I don't understand how I fit into it."

"Something's definitely going on there," Hamilton said. "The kid's scared half to death. But . . ." He hesitated. "I really can't spare my men to work very long on the case. A body turned up at the side of the highway today, carved up in ways you wouldn't think possible. And whether I like it or not, a gruesome murder like that takes precedence over a fake haunting."

"Hamilton, are you trying to ask if we can do some investigating for you?" Perry deduced. "Specifically Paul?"

Hamilton looked all the more awkward. "Do you think he'd do it?"

"That depends," Perry deadpanned. "Are you asking as a favor for a friend or are you looking to hire him?"

"Oh, he'd be compensated for his trouble," Hamilton hurried to say.

Perry looked down at his hands, pondering for a moment as he considered his reply. "Mignon is our friend too," he said. "I would certainly be willing to look into this without expecting any pay. But you would have to talk to Paul yourself."

"I thought I might find him here," Hamilton admitted. "He lives here half the time."

"He's out on a case right now," Perry said. "But when he comes in I'd be happy to give him the message."

"Thanks," Hamilton said. "I'll leave a message at his own office. He'd stop in there first, wouldn't he?"

"Probably," Perry said.

Hamilton got to his feet. Perry rose as well. "Oh," Hamilton said suddenly. "Perry, do you remember Vivalene?"

"_I_ certainly do," Della piped up before Perry could answer.

"As do I," Perry said. "What about Vivalene, Hamilton?"

"She's Mignon's number-one suspect," Hamilton said. "She's moved into the house next-door to the Petersons. I saw her about an hour ago. She hasn't changed any."

"I always felt that woman was poison," Della said in disgust.

"Do you think she could be responsible, Hamilton?" Perry asked.

"I don't know," Hamilton said. "Howie's father thinks there's some kind of a treasure hidden on the property. The idea is that whoever's trying to get rid of them thinks it too. But I'm not sure if fake ghosts are exactly Vivalene's angle."

Della shook her head. "I can more easily picture her trying to charm Mr. Peterson and giving him some sob story about her needing money," she said. "Then he'd probably take pity on her and tell her about the treasure and offer to share it with her if he finds it."

"That _is_ possible," Perry agreed. "Then again, perhaps Vivalene has nothing to do with what's happening at the Peterson home, nor knows anything of the supposed treasure."

"I'm going to find out," Hamilton vowed.

Perry gave him a sidelong glance. "Vivalene was always trying to make a play for you, despite the fact that you were prosecuting her," he said. "If she still has such designs, I must implore you to be careful, Hamilton."

"I will be, Perry," Hamilton nodded. "I remember the reports from up in Oregon a few years back, that she was wanted on suspicion of attempted murder."

"Not just that, but the attempted murder of at least one of the people she was after," Della chimed in. "He was only saved by someone else taking the bullet. And that person nearly died."

"And both of them were minors," Perry said darkly. "Around sixteen at the time."

Hamilton was revolted. "I still don't know how she weaseled her way out of that one," he said.

"She claimed that someone had been impersonating her," Perry said. "Specifically, she blamed a twin sister of hers that no one could ever find."

"There wasn't any twin sister to blame three years ago," Hamilton said. "And she still got off lighter than she should have."

Perry nodded. "You suspected the judge of being in collusion with her, as I recall."

"I still do," Hamilton said. "He's passed other outlandish judgments. I've just never been able to get anything on him."

"Maybe someday," Perry mused.

"Yeah. Well, I'd better get over to Paul's office," Hamilton said, turning to go. "Thanks again, Perry."

"Any time, Hamilton. As I promised, we'll be investigating too," Perry said.

Della watched as he departed. "I don't like the thought of that woman being back," she said at last. She looked to Perry. "Hamilton Burger wasn't the only man she targeted three years ago. She fed you a sob story trying to get you to defend her."

"Yes," Perry agreed. "She did." He stared thoughtfully at the closed door. "Whether or not she's involved with what's happening at the Petersons', we should find out why she's returned."

xxxx

Paul's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he entered his office and found Hamilton Burger leaning on the desk, talking with the receptionist.

"What's going on?" he demanded as he walked over. "Don't tell me my license is in danger of being revoked."

Hamilton jumped a mile. "Oh no," he said. "Nothing like that—this time," he added. "I was just going to leave a message for you with your girl. The fact is, Paul, I need you to do some work for me."

Paul stared at him. "I thought I was surprised when I saw you in here," he said, "but this tops it. Okay, we'll talk in my office."

xxxx

Paul listened with great interest as the story unfolded. At the conclusion he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So basically you want me to play Ghostbusters in this kid's house," he said.

"I want you to find out what's really behind the spooky sounds and weird special effects," Hamilton said.

Paul shrugged. "Okay, fine." He slid off the edge of his desk. "Just give me the address and I'll head down there."

Hamilton passed him a piece of paper. "You probably won't get much out of the boy Howie," he said. "My investigators didn't have much luck on that front. His mother should still be home; talk to her."

"What about Vivalene?" Paul queried.

"You probably won't have any better luck with her than I did," Hamilton sighed. "I'm planning to look into her business myself, but go ahead and take a crack at talking with her."

"The main thing I remember about her is that she likes men," Paul said flatly.

"Especially if they have money or if she can manipulate them," Hamilton said. "She conned you into a dinner three years ago."

Paul rolled his eyes. "But when I realized what she was up to I dropped her like a hot potato," he said. "She didn't get anything out of me."

"Good," Hamilton shot back.

Paul headed out of the office, calling a goodbye to his secretary and the receptionist as he went. "I'll let you know what I find out," he promised.

Hamilton followed him into the corridor outside, intending to ride to the ground floor with him in the elevator. "I'm going back to my office to work on this murder," he said. "If you call and I'm not there, you can reach me on my cellphone. Do you have the number?"

"Perry does, but I don't," Paul said.

Hamilton recited it to him as they waited for the elevator. Paul scribbled it down on the paper with the address.

"You know, this is beyond weird," he said. "You coming to me for help."

Hamilton sighed. "My office is tied up with other cases," he said. "I didn't know where else to turn."

The doors opened and they stepped inside. Paul pressed the button for the ground floor. Hamilton watched him, mulling over his thoughts. The awkward silence hung in the air.

At last he dared to break it. "Paul . . ." The detective glanced to him, inquiringly. "Paul, you realize I don't have anything against you and Perry, don't you? I can't just look the other way when you do things that bend or outright break the law. It isn't personal."

"No," Paul said after a moment. "But I can't believe you don't feel just a little put-out that it's so hard for you to win against Perry."

Hamilton threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "Well, can you blame me for that?" He looked Paul straight in the eye. "It's frustrating, I'll admit. And sometimes I lose my patience. I'm not proud of that. But I would never want anyone innocent to be convicted. No matter how many times I'm defeated, by Perry or anyone else, that holds true. I would rather lose a case if the alternative is for someone guiltless to go to prison—or worse."

Paul looked back for a long moment. Finally he nodded, turning away.

"I didn't think too much of you when we first met," he said. "Sometimes it felt like your goal in life was to get Perry and me in trouble. But . . ." He turned back. "It's funny; somewhere along the way I started to realize that you and Perry were getting along better and better, at least outside of court. Something had changed. And you stopped accusing Perry of crimes every time we turned around."

"Don't forget that Perry toned down a lot of his antics later on," Hamilton said. "I never know when he's going to bend the law again, because sometimes he still does. I have to watch out for that. But he's gotten better at playing by the rules."

". . . I guess that's true," Paul conceded.

The elevator reached the bottom floor and the doors opened. The two stepped out.

"Here's where we part ways," Hamilton said. "My car is out front."

"Mine's in the garage," Paul said. "Okay, I'll see you later."

Hamilton bade him goodbye and headed for the front doors. Paul watched him a moment before turning to make his way towards the parking garage entrance.

He was glad to have had the chance to talk with Hamilton. While Perry had been on increasingly friendly terms with his in-court rival over the past years, Paul had never been sure what to think of him. Their misadventures over the last few weeks had made him forcefully realize that life would be dull without Mr. Burger around. Yet even so, he doubted he could ever think of the other man as a friend, as Perry did.

Then again, who could say. Miracles still happened.

xxxx

The Peterson mansion brought an ill feeling to Paul's heart even as he parked the car in front. It was not in disrepair, but it would still make an excellent location for the filming of a horror thriller. With all its levels and possible secrets accumulated over decades, it was not hard at all to imagine that it actually could be a hotel for ghosts.

He climbed up to the roofed porch and rang the doorbell. In a moment a woman with short blonde hair opened the door. She blinked in confusion. "Can I help you?"

Paul dug into his coat pocket and produced his badge. "Paul Drake, Ma'am. I'm a private detective. The district attorney sent me over to investigate what's going on in your house."

She relaxed. "Thank goodness," she said. Sticking out her hand she said, "Martha Peterson. I'm so glad you've come, Mr. Drake."

"Have more strange things happened?" Paul asked, shaking her hand.

"Yes," Martha sighed. "I had to send Howie over to a friend's house. He was too scared to stay here after the scream came from the basement. I wasn't sure I wanted him here, either. I don't even know if it's safe." She moved back to allow him to come inside. Blushing, she continued. "I have to say that I'd really like to get out of here too. I only stayed because those men from the D.A.'s office said that someone else might be stopping by."

"Didn't they look all through your house?" Paul shut the door behind him as he walked into the entryway.

Martha nodded. "And they didn't find anyone. So I know it's just me being silly, but those screams really are horrifying. They frighten me more than just about anything else. Well, except for the whispering." She shuddered. "It's never loud enough to distinguish what they're saying. And it stops so abruptly, as if nothing was there at all."

"That's unsettling alright," Paul said. "Okay, the first thing I'll do is check out your basement. I brought a flashlight." He took it out. "You just wait here while I go downstairs."

She regarded him worriedly. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"I've tangled with worse things than fake ghosts," Paul said. "Where's the door to the basement?"

"It's in the kitchen," she told him. "Here, I'll show you."

She led him into a roomy kitchen with a long island down the middle. At the back wall was a door, which she unlocked and opened. A dark staircase led downward. She reached over, pulling on a thick string. A dim bulb lit up the stairs.

"Some of it's still dirt," she said. "We filled in about half with concrete, but we didn't have the money to finish it. Then Doug found that map and wondered if this treasure could be buried down there, so he didn't want to finish filling it in until he thoroughly checked." She shook her head. "He even wants to break up the concrete we already have. I don't want him to; it would be such a waste of money."

Paul grinned. "If you really could find a treasure, it'd probably more than make up for it."

"I guess," she said. "That goes to show how convinced I am that there isn't one.

"Oh, by the way, a couple of the rooms don't have lights," she said. "Someday we plan to wire them for electricity, but that . . . just hasn't happened yet." She shrugged.

Paul nodded, gripping the flashlight. "Okay. Here I go."

The old wooden steps creaked and groaned under his weight. He cringed. If anyone really were down here, they would have long ago been alerted to his presence. But no one emerged.

At the bottom, the basement opened onto the concrete part of the floor. A washer and dryer were situated just to the left of the stairs. In the dim light, Paul could make out a dark corridor and two other doors ahead of him—one right and one left. Another door was on the far left, on the wall opposite the washer and dryer.

The nearest room was to his right. Switching on the flashlight, he moved to the door and began to ease it open. The room beyond was nicely furnished, and even featured carpeting and a fireplace, but it was empty. He stepped inside, taking a better look around. If there was any audio equipment here, it was well hidden.

Leaving the apparent family room, he crossed the concrete and came to stand in front of the mysterious door in the washroom. It was a strange one; depicted on the door was a silhouette of a man apparently standing in the dark. He opened the door. Would the interior be as odd?

Instead, there was not a lot of interior to see. This was a fruit room, with nothing but shelves and bottles of fruit. Paul stepped in briefly, feeling across the walls for secret panels without success. Sighing, he backed out and shut the door.

The other door visible from the bottom of the stairs led to a room that was partially furnished. Paul raised an eyebrow as he wandered inside. Among the other junk strewn on the floor was a public telephone booth lying on its side, vacant cardboard boxes, and packing peanuts everywhere. Several crunched under Paul's shoes as he advanced through the room.

"Well," he muttered at last, "this place is weird. But there's nobody hanging out down here. No fake ghosts, either."

Leaving the room, he looked to the long corridor ahead of him. It wound its way around the furnace and water heater and disappeared into the darkness. And even as he stood looking to it, a chill ran up his spine. A chill that was quickly spreading over his body.

He stiffened. He was not just uneasy; this entire spot was unnaturally cold. He stepped away. The air was warmer here. He stepped back. The chill returned.

He jumped aside. He did not believe in weird, spooky things. At least, he had never thought he did. But this was making his heart pick up speed. He wanted out.

Instead he drew a shaky breath. "It's not going to be said that Paul Drake ran away from a chilly spot on the floor," he said to himself. "I'll just . . . walk around it."

And he did, slowly and carefully. By the time he moved back into the dark corridor, the air felt normal. Allowing a shudder up his back, he proceeded to the dirt part of the basement.

Almost immediately he stepped down on something hard. Frowning, he beamed the flashlight on the offending spot. Something red glistened under the light. "An earring?" He reached down to pick it up.

Something caught on it came up too. It dangled from the fastener, dirt-covered but clearly white underneath. Paul moved to pluck it off. Halfway there, he froze. This was not just any old thing.

What it really looked like was part of a skeletal finger.


	3. Box

**Notes: I should never post when I'm tired or rushed. I meant to attach these notes to the previous chapter. Thanks to Harry2 for plot suggestions! It's made me a lot surer where I'm going with this. Also, the basement Paul explores is based on a real place, with the exception that the one I've seen is entirely concrete. And, of course, it was devoid of such disturbing things as what Paul found.** **Chapter Three**

Paul was not eager to show his find to Martha. But it had to be done. As he ascended the stairs, he gingerly carried the earring with its dangling, insistent catch ahead of him. It held fast, never making a move to disengage itself.

"Mrs. Peterson?" he called.

She appeared at the top of the steps, both relieved and worried. "Yes?"

Paul stopped on the second step. "When those men from the D.A.'s office were here, did they check the basement?"

"Why, yes they did," Martha frowned. "Is there a problem?"

"Well, I can't believe they would've overlooked this," Paul said. He held out the earring.

Martha's eyes widened. "That belongs to our next-door neighbor!" she gasped. "I'm sure of it!"

"What about this?" Paul returned, pointing to the bit of bone. "Somehow I don't think this is hers."

Now Martha looked boggled. "Is that . . ."

"Part of a finger," Paul concluded. "Disgusting but true."

"What are you going to do with it?" Martha demanded.

"Well, since it has no business turning up in your basement, I'll probably need to turn it over to the police," Paul said. "Aren't you going to ask where I found it?"

Surprise flickered in Martha's eyes. "Oh . . . well, yes, of course I want to know!" she said.

"It was right at the edge of the concrete part of the basement," Paul said. "I stepped down on the dirt and crunched on this."

Martha shook her head. "That's horrible. Just horrible!" She turned away, sickened. "Oh, I'm so glad Howie didn't find it. . . ."

Paul fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped the objects in it. "I probably should have put it back where I found it," he frowned. "But now that I've got it I guess I'll show the earring to your neighbor and see if she recognizes it. And I'd better call the police while I'm at it."

Martha bit her lip. "Yes, I guess you'd better."

As soon as Paul was outside, he took out his phone and dialed the number he had been given. He headed down the stairs, stopping when he was out of sight around the hedge that separated the Petersons' property from Vivalene's. "Come on," he muttered. "Answer the phone."

_Click._ "Hello?"

"This is Drake," Paul greeted. "I'm at the Petersons' place. I just finished searching the basement after Mrs. Peterson claims she and Howie heard a scream down there."

"Did you find anything?"

"Yeah, I did." Paul frowned. "A red earring that Mrs. Peterson identified as Vivalene's. And the tip of a bony finger was stuck to it."

"_What?"_

"That's what I thought," Paul said. "I found it at the junction of the concrete and the dirt parts of the basement."

"My men didn't find anything like that. And I can't believe they would've missed it."

"Me either." Paul glanced over his shoulder before continuing. "And that makes me wonder if somebody planted it just for me to find."

"That could be it. But whom do you suspect?"

"I don't know. But frankly, I'm wondering about Mrs. Peterson. She didn't even ask me where I'd found the thing until I prompted her."

"Mrs. Peterson?" Burger echoed. "Paul, what reason would she have to plant something like that? Where would she even get it?"

"I don't know that, either. And maybe I'm way off the mark. I just thought I should tell you what I've come up with so far."

"Thank you. But what are you going to do with it now?"

"Well, I told Mrs. Peterson I was going to call the police," Paul said. "Just in case it wasn't planted, it could mean that something's buried in the basement."

Burger was silent a moment. "I'll take care of sending the police," he said. "Meanwhile, you keep investigating."

"Sure thing. By the way, I stepped into a cold spot right before I found it," Paul said. "I couldn't figure out how it was being made."

A sigh. "Alright. Keep trying."

They said their goodbyes and Paul took the phone away from his ear. He sighed as well as he snapped it closed. He had just barely started work and already the case was proving disturbing and bizarre.

"Why, Paul Drake! I scarcely dared believe it!"

He jumped a mile. But even as the shock remained fresh, the voice was not one he could ever forget. It was obvious who it was. He spun around in time to meet Vivalene arriving at the bottom of the hill on her property.

"Well." Paul stuffed the phone back in his pocket. "What a coincidence. I was coming over to talk to you as soon as I hung up."

"Really?" Vivalene feigned surprise. "I'm so touched, darling. You remember me after all these years."

"I remember what you tried to do to me and Perry and even Burger," Paul returned. "Anyway, I found this in the Petersons' basement. Mrs. Peterson said it's yours." He took out the handkerchief and unfolded it just enough to reveal the earring without displaying what was attached to it.

Vivalene looked at it in amazement. "Why, I've been looking for that since it disappeared two weeks ago!" she declared. "You say it was in the Petersons' basement? However did it get there?"

"I'd sure like to know," Paul said. "So would the D.A.'s office." He looked her in the eye. "You say it disappeared. Can anyone back you up on that?"

"Well, I complained about it to some friends of mine," Vivalene shrugged. "I can dig up their names for you if you want." She paused and blinked. "But wait. Are you suggesting I need an alibi for my poor little earring?"

"I'm suggesting that you're going to be implicated in what's happening if you can't provide someone else to back you up on when it disappeared," Paul said. "Someone already suspects you, and this is not going to help."

"Hamilton Burger thinks it's me, doesn't he?" Vivalene shook her head. "He's always hated me."

"I don't think Burger hates anyone," Paul frowned. It only hit him after the fact that he was defending the D.A. He paused, a bit weirded out by the realization. That was a new one.

Vivalene did not notice. "Well, he _strongly dislikes_ me then," she said. "Just because he prosecuted me three years ago. I don't think he's ever forgiven me for getting a reduced sentence."

Paul let out an exasperated breath. "Look, if you're trying to get me to sympathize with you, it's not working. Burger felt you got off too easy. And he wasn't the only one. I don't appreciate the way you used me back then. But even at that, I didn't think you were capable of murder until later."

"Murder? Whatever do you mean?" Vivalene moved closer to him. "I can't believe you'd think that of me. What have I ever done to make me a suspect in something as appalling as that?"

"What happened in Oregon, for one thing," Paul said. "Don't bother trying to explain; I know you said it was some twin sister of yours." He unfolded the rest of the handkerchief. "And this is another reason." He watched Vivalene's eyes grow large at the sight of the bone. "If you're lying about when the earring vamoosed, and you lost it earlier today while poking through the Petersons' basement, there's a chance you'll be suspect in a murder. It all depends on who this finger belongs to, where they are, and how long they've been there."

"So you're suggesting perhaps I killed someone there some time ago?" Vivalene's tone was still sultry, but it had darkened as well. "Darling, I can honestly say I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. And I _did_ lose this earring two weeks ago." She reached for it, but Paul quickly clamped his fist around it and the handkerchief.

"Sorry, doll, but this could be important evidence," he told her. "The police are going to have to check it out."

Vivalene pouted. "Some of my least favorite words," she lamented. But she quickly recovered, shrugging it off as she half-turned away. "Oh well. They'll discover that this is one pie I don't have my finger in. Too messy."

"I just hope you're right," Paul sighed.

Vivalene turned back, her green eyes alight with interest. "You do? Paul, I'm touched. You don't want me to be a murderer."

"I don't want anyone to be a murderer," Paul retorted. "Right now I'm just hoping this bone came from some model skeleton or something else relatively normal."

Vivalene gave a sage nod. "The thought of a body in a basement is really quite disturbing, isn't it, darling?"

Knowing it was useless to protest Vivalene's love of calling every man "darling", Paul opted to ignore it instead. "Yeah, it really is," he said. "If that's the case, I could believe the place is haunted," he muttered as an aside, mostly to himself.

"Oh, the restless dead and all that," Vivalene smirked.

"It's nothing to joke about, but yeah, you could say that," Paul said.

Unconcerned, Vivalene flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Who's joking? And by the way, do tell me how Perry's doing. You still work for him, don't you?"

"Yeah, I still work for him," Paul said, weary now. "And he's fine. But he won't be if you go bothering him again!"

"Oh dear, and I wanted to go say Hello after it's been so long," Vivalene sighed.

"He wouldn't appreciate it," Paul said. "And neither would Della."

Vivalene's lip curled. "So she's still around. I should have known."

Paul gave her a Look. "Well, of course she's still around. Where did you think she'd go?"

"I thought maybe Perry had grown tired of her over-protective ways," Vivalene purred, leaning in farther.

Paul stepped back, even as his face burned. "Now just a minute!" he said hotly. "Della isn't over-protective."

"Isn't she?" Unruffled, Vivalene looked up at him with faux innocence.

"No!" Paul retorted. "And that's the last straw. I'm not going to stand around here and argue over that. The police should be here any minute. If you want to clear yourself, you'd better stick around." He turned, stalking back toward his car. Vivalene's eyes bored into his back, but she said nothing, nor made any move to follow him.

It was a complete relief.

xxxx

Hamilton typed into his laptop's browser's search box for the umpteenth time. In between working on the new murder and the other cases on his desk, he had been placing calls, going through old files, and sending for copies of news stories involving Vivalene. He had also been looking up whatever articles he could find online. In addition to what he had already known about Oregon, he was starting to uncover some other information that was every bit as damning.

From the pieces he was fitting together, a woman matching Vivalene's description had apparently run around with a small mob in New York and Detroit. She had been kicked out and nearly killed when, in a fit of jealousy, she had tried to murder the boss after he had shown interest in a showgirl. Just like every other time she had brushed with the law, Vivalene had managed to worm her way out of the mess when questioned. She had a solid alibi for the times in question. She also had a twin sister who was fond of impersonating her.

Hamilton was tired of hearing about this sister. Neither the police nor his own investigators had ever managed to uncover such a person. Maybe the tale was entirely false. It certainly looked that way. In any case, Hamilton was determined to locate the truth. The hearing against Vivalene three years ago had ended before he had really had a chance to discover much, and then he had been forced to turn his attention to other, more pressing matters. Perhaps now it was time to dig deeper and not stop. The more he learned about the woman, the more it was obvious that she was dangerous and needed to be caught, regardless of her involvement at the Petersons' house.

The phone rang. He snapped it up, half-occupied as he scrolled through the search results. "Hello?"

"Hamilton," came Perry's voice.

Hamilton leaned back in surprise. "Perry. What's going on?"

"I thought you would like to know that I just received a telephone call from Vivalene, inviting me to dinner."

Hamilton was not sure whether he was surprised or not. The brazenness of that woman! Obviously she had an angle.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I'm going, of course," Perry said. "I'm curious to know what she's up to."

"Well, I'd probably go too, if it was me she'd called," Hamilton admitted. "But it will probably just be an evening of playing cat-and-mouse and getting nowhere."

"Knowing her, that's likely."

Hamilton picked up a pen on his desk, idly toying with it as they talked. "How does Della feel about it?"

"She's still out on an errand. She doesn't know yet."

Hamilton chuckled. "You're going to have a time of it getting her to feel good about you going to dinner with Vivalene." He paused, something else suddenly occurring to him. He sat up straight, abandoning the pen. "You _are_ going to tell her, aren't you, Perry?"

"Why, Hamilton. What kind of person do you think I am?"

From his tone it was discernable that he would indeed tell Della. At the same time, Hamilton was not sure if Perry realized the full extent of why Della would not be happy. But that was not something he cared to go into at the moment.

He relaxed again, shaking his head. "It's your business. So is that the only reason you called, to tell me you've got a dinner date with Mignon's suspect?"

"No, I was also calling to find out what you've learned so far. I don't want to follow on the same path you're already taking."

Hamilton looked back to the computer screen. "Most of what I've learned is only more confusing," he said. "And it points right back to Vivalene." He summarized what he had heard from Paul. "I called the police," he finished. "They should be out there by now."

Perry was silent, pondering on the information. "It all seems a bit too convenient," he said. "The earring, the skeletal finger."

"What do you think, Perry?" Hamilton wondered. "That someone is trying to set Vivalene up?"

"It's a possibility, at least," Perry said. "Perhaps she was there and it was decided that she should be framed for what's happening at the Petersons' house, in order to divert suspicion away from the true criminal."

"Then do you think she has a perfectly legitimate reason to have come back to Los Angeles?" Hamilton asked in surprise.

"I doubt that," Perry said. "I don't think she does anything without a selfish and dangerous reason. Our challenge is finding that reason."

"Mr. Burger?"

Hamilton looked up as Miss Miller knocked lightly on the door and then pushed it open a crack. Her face was etched with confusion.

He gestured for her to come inside. "I'll have to call you back, Perry," he said into the phone. "Something's happened here. You're up-to-date on things now; I'm sure you can take it from here."

"Yes, of course." The question mark was obvious in Perry's voice. He wanted to know what had just happened. "I'll talk with you later, Hamilton."

They hung up. Hamilton turned his full attention to Miss Miller, who was carrying an oblong box wrapped in brown paper. Her brow furrowed as she glanced down at it.

"Mr. Burger, this just came on the ground mail truck," she said. "It's a Special Delivery_._"

Hamilton reached to take it from her. What in the world was it? It was lightweight. And it was addressed to him, in red ink. The sender's address had been coincidentally obscured.

"It couldn't be a bomb," he mused, setting it down on his desk. He reached for a letter opener to slice through the strong tape.

"A bomb, sir?" Miss Miller gasped. "Maybe I should call the police."

"No, no, I'll be alright, Miss Miller," he tried to reassure her.

Cutting the tape away, he unwound the paper. An ordinary shoebox emerged, its lid taped shut. He slit that as well and lifted the lid. His jaw dropped. Miss Miller cried out.

Inside the box was what was clearly a voodoo doll. It had been given brown hair and was dressed in a dark suit. A pin had been stuck through its heart. To complete the gruesome image, a strange red substance had spread over the torso and collected at the bottom of the box.

There was no note, but the message was plain.


	4. Dinner

**Chapter Four**

"So this is what was sent to you Special Delivery?"

Hamilton perched on the edge of his desk, watching Mignon peering into the shoebox. "Yes," he said. "And I'm still alive," he added dryly. "I didn't drop dead when I saw it, like they probably wanted."

Mignon straightened. "They may have meant it in that way. Then again, it may have been intended only as a warning," she said. But though she was still outwardly calm, the worry was flickering in her eyes.

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought you'd be all for telling me about the voodoo curse."

Mignon sighed. "The magic associated with the _vodun_ religion is meant to be white and helpful, despite Hollywood's persistence in depicting it as dark and evil. The priests and priestesses are versed in both types of magic so as to fully understand how to combat black magic; however, only renegades actually turn to the usage of black magic."

"But then you still believe in the existence of both kinds of magic," Hamilton said, folding his arms.

"There are many forces in this world other than what some people are willing to see and believe," Mignon said.

"I guess," said Hamilton, noncommittal in his tone and attitude. "But it sounds like nonsense to me."

Mignon did not reply to that. Instead, the worry in her eyes intensified. "Hamilton, I am so sorry for this," she said, gesturing to the box. "I didn't know that asking you to investigate the Petersons' house would make someone this angry."

"Don't worry about it," Hamilton said, pushing himself away from the desk and to the floor. "Part of being a public official is dealing with threats. I've got them before."

"Yes, but it hasn't ever been because of me," Mignon said. "If something happens to you on this case, I won't forgive myself."

"Now, there's no need to feel like that," Hamilton said, kindly. "I know there's risks involved in investigating any case. And I keep at it anyway, of my own free will." But he was touched by her concern. Despite their very different viewpoints on the supernatural, they were close.

He changed the subject. "But I didn't call you here to start you worrying about me," he said. "I was wondering if you have any idea who might have sent this."

Mignon clasped her hands, walking away from the desk. "I have many friends who share my interest in _vodun_, among them some who subscribe to the more magic-based hoodoo, which had its origins in Louisiana. None of them would consider doing something such as this."

"What about people they might know or have heard of, people such as these . . . renegades you were talking about?" Mr. Burger tried.

Mignon stopped. "That's possible," she consented. She turned back. "Perhaps one of them could be deeply involved in the Petersons' mystery. Then again, the extent of their association might be to have been hired to send you that doll."

"Can you look into it without getting yourself in danger?" Hamilton wondered.

Mignon nodded. "Yes. I'll speak with some of my _vodun_ friends. I'll go right now."

A knock on the half-open door brought them both to attention. "Come in," Hamilton called.

Lieutenant Tragg pushed the door open the rest of the way. "Well, hello, Mr. Burger, Ms. Germaine," he greeted. He walked inside, moseying towards the shoebox on the desk. "This is what I was called about, I assume."

"That's right." Hamilton nodded at the box. "This is someone's idea of a childish prank."

Tragg leaned over, taking in the voodoo doll and the hopefully fake blood. "A very . . . gory childish prank, I would say," he said.

"If they know anything about me, they'd know it wouldn't scare me in the least," Hamilton said.

Tragg shook his head. "Well, we'll dust it for fingerprints and snap some pictures before taking it in as evidence," he said. Sergeant Brice came in after him, carrying a fingerprint kit.

Mignon watched them a moment before moving to walk past. "I hope you'll find something that will help," she said. "If you will excuse me, I have something to attend to."

"Of course," Tragg said, distractedly glancing her way. "Good day, Ms. Germaine."

Hamilton walked her to the door. "Mignon, even though you said this won't be dangerous, I have to ask you to be careful anyway," he said, keeping his voice low. "The culprit might hear about you asking around and come after you."

Mignon looked to him. "Thank you, Hamilton. I'll be fine." She stepped into the outer office, nodded to Miss Miller, and headed for the hallway beyond. Hamilton observed her departure before turning his attention to the police.

xxxx

The sight of Perry gathering his hat and coat was a surprise to Della when she walked into the office. "Well," she said, "just where are you going? You don't usually leave anywhere close to the time most people get off work."

"I might be back later," said Perry. "Tonight I have a dinner appointment."

Della's surprise did not lessen. "With a new client?" she wondered.

"No," Perry said. "With Vivalene."

Della gaped, unable to process what she was hearing. "Why?" was all that she finally managed to get out.

"She called and invited me," Perry smiled. "Now I want to see what she has to say."

Della followed him back to the outer office. "Perry, she can't have asked you out for any good reason," she protested. "She's just trying to get under your skin the way she tried before!"

"Probably," Perry agreed. "Della, I don't trust her from here to that doorknob. But I want to see if I can determine what her angle is this time. She wouldn't come back and immediately pick up where she left off unless she had a specific reason."

"Her reason is that she enjoys wrapping men around her fingers," Della said. "Maybe she's hoping to get security in advance before committing her next crime."

"Possibly," Perry said. "Let's see what I can learn." He headed into the reception room and to the front door. "I'll call you when it's over. Goodbye, Della."

Della stared after him as the door swung shut. "He didn't even ask what I found out," she said to the empty room. Throwing up her hands in resignation, she turned away.

The thought of Vivalene's brazen, manipulative ways and her coy flirtations with Perry was making Della's blood boil. Who knew what she would try next?

At least Perry realized she was dangerous, especially after hearing about Oregon. But the very fact that Vivalene was capable of murder was even more worrisome. If she couldn't get anywhere with Perry, maybe she would decide he had outlived any usefulness to her.

Della sank down at her desk, picking up the phone. Maybe she could get her mind off of this by finding out what was happening elsewhere with the Petersons' case. If Mr. Burger had got in touch with Paul, Paul had surely agreed to help. He might have discovered something interesting by now.

And Della could tell him what Perry was up to. She was sure that he would not be pleased either.

xxxx

Vivalene had suggested that she and Perry meet at a fancy restaurant for dinner. When he arrived she was already there, leaning over the balcony and waving to him.

"Hello, darling!" she called down. "I took the liberty of choosing a nice, private table up here. Do come up. Just say you're with me."

"Thank you," Perry said.

It did not take long to make his way up to her. She smiled at him as he pushed open the French doors and stepped onto the veranda moments later. "I hate to cook," she said matter-of-factly. "I thought this would be as private a place as if we met at my house."

"It should be fine, as long as you're not concerned about catching cold," Perry said, sitting down across from her.

She smirked. "You're such a dear, Perry. Always concerned about other people." In three years she had not changed. She still wore her hair in the same fluffy waves. Her dress, while relatively modest, still carried a hint that the wearer was subtly provocative. Even her elbow-length gloves seemed meant to tantalize her potential victims. Perry wondered all the more what her scheme was.

"I must say, it was a surprise to receive your telephone call and your invitation," he said. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you again." He looked directly at her. "What is it you want?"

"What do _I_ want?" Vivalene echoed. "Why, darling, I only want to visit with an old friend."

"We were never friends, Vivalene," Perry said. "And I can't believe you would change your mind now. You called me here for a reason. Now, how about you stop playing games and tell me what it is this time."

Vivalene took a sip of what looked like champagne. "You're still as shrewd as ever, Perry," she said. "Alright. I came back to Los Angeles because I'm worried about Douglas. I'm sure Paul has mentioned him by now."

Perry looked at her in surprise. "Douglas Peterson?"

"Of course. We were old acquaintances. A few weeks ago I found his number and randomly decided to call and see how he's doing these days. He sounded so odd on the phone that I decided to fly right out."

Perry leaned back, frowning. "And how did he take this gesture of concern on your part?"

Vivalene shrugged. "He said he couldn't let his wife find out we knew each other; it would only cause problems. So we would have to pretend we were strangers."

"Was he grateful you came?" Perry asked.

"Actually, no," Vivalene mused. "He seemed to think I was trying to take something of his away from him."

"And what would that be?"

"He didn't say."

The conversation was brought to a pause by the appearance of the waiter. They gave their orders and he soon departed.

Perry set down his menu, pondering to himself. Was Vivalene telling the truth? Or was she trying to twist things to make Douglas look bad and herself good?

"So," he said at last, "he accused you of attempting to steal something from him, but he wouldn't tell you what that something was?"

"He said I already knew," Vivalene shrugged. "And I don't."

"Consequentially, you sent for me hoping I can get to the bottom of the matter," Perry said.

Vivalene gave him a wide-eyed, hopeful look. "Will you?"

"I'll do what I can," Perry said. "But tell me honestly, Vivalene. Am I the first one you've gone to for help?"

"Well . . ." Vivalene swished the champagne in her glass. "Technically, yes. But I did stumble across both Paul Drake and Hamilton Burger earlier and told them the exact same thing. Neither of them would lift a finger to help me. Hamilton was particularly cruel. He told me he couldn't care less about my concerns and said that Douglas and I were probably partners in some kind of illegal scheme. He also said he would see me in prison no matter what he had to do."

Perry gave no indication of what he made of this. "Including crossing the boundaries of the law himself?" he queried.

"I suppose," Vivalene shrugged. "That was certainly his intimation, at least."

Perry leaned back. "He and Paul were right," he said, his tone both clipped and angry. "You haven't changed."

She blinked at him. "Why, however do you mean that?"

Perry leaned forward again, clasping his hands on the table. "You've been telling me nothing but lies. I spoke with both Paul and Hamilton this past afternoon. Both of them mentioned meeting you, but said nothing about this mystery you've been telling me."

"Why would they?" Vivalene retorted, not about to back down. "It wouldn't depict either of them in a good light. And Paul, at least, certainly wants to stay favored by you. Mr. Burger, I suppose, really doesn't care. But he wouldn't want what he said to get out to the wrong people, people who could have him removed from office."

Perry's visage only darkened. "Neither Paul Drake nor Hamilton Burger would ever brush you off in the manner you've described to me," he said. "Mr. Burger and I have our differences, but he is no less devoted to justice than I am. He would take your professed plight into consideration, whether or not he fully believed you. And he would never consider stooping to breaking the law in order to secure a conviction. You are trying to turn me against both him and Paul. It's one of your favorite tired old tricks. You tried it on all of us three years ago. And according to the police reports from Oregon, you did the same thing with the boys back there. While unfortunately you succeeded then, you did not and have not met with the same success here." He stood, setting the menu back on the table. "Not everyone is so susceptible to your lies, willing to trust you over those they've known for years. As far as I'm concerned, this evening is over."

Vivalene got to her feet, still trying to gather what was left of her innocent mask. "But Perry, darling, you've got it all wrong," she protested. "Sometimes you don't know people as well as you think. I'd swear to you on the Bible that Hamilton Burger didn't listen at all and instead threatened to use _any_ means necessary to see me convicted!"

"_Goodnight, _Vivalene." Perry turned, storming to the doors and back inside. He was rarely this visibly angry. But Vivalene had pushed all the wrong buttons. He had not tolerated her outrageous behavior three years ago. He had just as little patience now as he had then.

Still, he could not say that there had been no point in this meeting. Now he was positive that Vivalene was deeply mixed up in this mess. And she was trying to cover her tracks.

He was already dialing on his phone before he reached his car. By the time there was a click and Paul was saying "Hello", Perry was climbing into his convertible.

"Paul, where are you?" he asked. "Are you still at the Petersons'?"

"Yeah," Paul said in surprise. "The police are here trying to find any evidence of a body buried in the basement. They're just about to call it quits. You sound keyed up. What's going on?" He hesitated. "Does it have anything to do with going to dinner with Vivalene?"

"Vivalene has been feeding me more of her treachery," Perry said, not bothering to ask how Paul knew about the dinner date. "I'm convinced now that she's a part of this. Is Douglas Peterson home?"

"He just got in," Paul said, bewildered. "What do you want him for?"

"Ask him if he ever knew Vivalene before she moved next-door," Perry said. "Tell him it's vital that he tell you the truth."

"Okay," Paul agreed. "Do you want to hang on the line?"

"No, I'm just about to drive back to the office," Perry said. "I'll call you when I'm there."

"Fair enough," Paul said. "I'll try to have something for you by then."

Perry hung up, stuffing the phone into his coat pocket before starting the car's engine.

Hopefully Della would forgive him for this. Perhaps after explanations and an "I told you so", she would take him up on an offer of dinner.

xxxx

"Did I know Vivalene before?"

Paul frowned, baffled. Douglas Peterson had looked ready to faint when Paul had asked. Now, even though he was speaking, he was still dizzy and pale. He sank into the chair at the desk of his home office, adjusting his glasses.

"That's what I asked," Paul said.

Douglas shook his head. "I never wanted it to come out," he said, weakly. "When she moved next-door I was sick. But she never mentioned anything. It was so strange; I thought she'd be hanging it over my head."

"Hanging what over your head?" Paul persisted. "Not just that you two knew each other."

"No, not just that," Douglas agreed. "I was young and stupid and thought she cared about me. I ended up getting in pretty deep with her. She manipulated me into going along on a couple of crooked deals."

"How long ago was this?" Paul demanded.

Douglas shrugged. "Close to ten years ago now," he said. "I'm clean now; I was caught and got off on probation and community service. It happened shortly before I met Martha."

Paul lowered his voice. "Does she know?"

"No." Douglas looked at him pleadingly. "And I should be the one to do it, Mr. Drake."

"Don't worry, I won't go blabbing it around," Paul said. "Perry Mason wanted me to find out, but he'll keep it quiet."

"Perry Mason?" Douglas blinked at him, dazed and confused. "Why is he interested?"

"He knows your son's godmother," Paul said. "I do too, for that matter. We all want to get to the bottom of this. And I guess Perry thought that maybe this information would help."

"Well, it won't!" Douglas retorted. "Please, I don't want it to get out anywhere. My son shouldn't have to know that his dad was ever involved with a woman like that!"

"Like I said, Mr. Peterson, Perry won't tell," Paul said. "It doesn't have to go public."

"It had better not," Douglas declared.

xxxx

Hamilton was getting back to the gory murder of that afternoon. He had just started to look through the evidence that had been collected by his investigators over the past hours when his phone rang. He shot it a cursory glance. Leon was unavailable at the moment and Miss Miller had left; there was no one to answer it. And it was going to annoy him if it kept ringing. Besides, it might be important.

He snapped it up. "Hello?"

"Mr. Burger?"

His eyes widened in his shock. "Howie?" Despite the almost whispering voice, he was certain he recognized it after hearing it earlier that day.

"Yeah."

"How did you get this number?" Hamilton asked.

"I found you in the phone book. Can you come over?"

If Hamilton had been stunned before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. "I'm very busy, Howie," he said. "What's the problem?"

"Mom took me to Amethyst's house. She's a friend. And someone's trying to get inside! We can hear them outside by a window, scratching at it. We're under the table. I can't call home because they're talking on the phone too."

"You should have called the police." Hamilton frowned. Why was the Petersons' line continually busy? "Look, I'll send for a squad car to go out there. They'd get there faster than I would right now."

"But you'll come too, won't you?"

Hamilton looked in exasperation to the open folder on his desk. "I don't know," he said. "We'll see. What's the address?" Howie told him. "Alright. I need to hang up so I can call the police."

"Okay." Howie's voice was an odd mix of relief, fear, and sad resignation.

"Stay where you are," Hamilton cautioned.

"What if he gets in and sees us?"

"Then run for it," Hamilton said. "And yell as loud as you can. If you make a lot of noise, the neighbors might hear and come to help."

"Okay," Howie said again. He hung up.

Hamilton sighed when the dial tone sounded loudly in his ear. Even as he pecked out the number of the police department, somehow he knew that he would not get any more work done on this murder case for a while.

Instead he would be off trying to help a kid he barely knew, who felt comfortable enough around him to look him up in the phone book and call him instead of the police.


	5. Intruder

**Chapter Five**

The red-and-blue lights of two patrol cars flashed up and down the dark street. Hamilton turned onto the block, following the glow to its source.

He frowned as he parked an adequate distance behind one of the cars. This was several blocks away from the Petersons' house. It was ironic that someone would try to get in here, when the Petersons' kid was visiting. Was it more than a coincidence? What would the burglar want with a young boy?

Getting out of the car, he headed towards the house. An officer on the walkway was writing on a notepad while Howie and a girl talked to him. As Hamilton approached, Howie suddenly looked up.

"Mr. Burger!" he exclaimed. Breaking away from the group, he ran over with wide, excited eyes.

The policeman watched in amusement. "That's a change," he said. "He was glad to see us, but he got shy when I tried to talk to him."

"It just takes time," the girl said. "He talks to people."

Hamilton glanced down at Howie. "What happened?"

"The policemen came and the bad guy ran away," Howie said. "Two of them are still chasing him!"

"They lost him," the officer inserted. "My partner and I went to help. Then we came back to talk to the kids. They didn't see too much."

"It was a creepy shadow at the window," the girl said. "I'm Amethyst, by the way."

Howie nodded. "He was just starting to come in when the police showed up."

Hamilton looked from the kids to the policeman. "The telephone line at the Petersons' house has been busy," he said. "Has anyone tried to contact them about this?"

"The first officers on the scene said they were going over there after they lost the suspect," was the reply. "I haven't heard back from them yet."

"Where's your partner?" Hamilton asked.

"He's trying to call from inside," the officer answered.

Hamilton stepped closer to him. "Do you think it was just an ordinary attempted break-in?" He kept his voice low. "It seems strange that it didn't happen until Howie Peterson was over here, considering what's been going on at his house lately."

"Right now we just don't know enough to say," the policeman said. "But you're right, Mr. Burger—it is strange."

Howie tugged on the edge of Hamilton's coat, prompting him to look down. "Will you stay?" he begged.

Hamilton stared, suddenly awkward. "Well, I . . ." He glanced back at the policeman. "You should be safe here until your parents can be found. . . ."

"My parents are coming," Amethyst said. "But it'll take 'em a while; they're both working far away."

The officer nodded. "I know you're busy, Mr. Burger," he said. "If you could spare the time, though, it might be good for the kids. Especially Howie, since he knows you." He gave Hamilton a meaningful look.

At last Hamilton sighed. The Petersons' house was already being visited, by the police. And there did not seem to be a great deal he could do on this angle of the mystery. He came out because Howie had pleaded for him to come.

"I guess I could stay for a few minutes," he consented.

The way Howie brightened convinced him that he had made the right choice.

xxxx

Mignon entered the dark store, casting a cursory glance at the old, black tapestry to the left. No matter how many years passed it was always there, the owner refusing to exchange it for a different, newer design. It almost seemed a longtime friend, the store's mascot, by now.

She walked past it and over to the counter. As always, it was stocked under the glass with voodoo dolls. Several more were topside, positioned around the cash register and the basket of trinkets that surrounded the slouching cashier. Hearing the approach, the girl looked up with a start.

"Oh! Ohmygosh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you until just now!" she babbled. She shoved a bookmark into the tattered paperback she had been reading and set it aside on the counter.

Mignon took in the reddish-pink highlights in her black hair and her spiked choker. "You're new here, aren't you?" she greeted.

"I just started a couple of weeks ago," the girl admitted. "It's probably just for a couple of months, until the holiday season's over. I'm Tara. Do you come in here a lot?"

"I know the owner," Mignon said. "Is he here?"

"Yeah, he's in the back." Tara gestured over her shoulder.

"Please tell him Mignon Germaine is here to see him."

Tara's eyes widened. "No way, really? That's so weird. He was talking about you today!"

An eyebrow rose. "What did he have to say?"

"Oh, not much. He just said he wondered when you'd be dropping in for a visit again and said something about maybe going to see your act at the club." Tara hurried to the Employees Only door. "I'll go get him!"

Mignon stood by, watching her go through the swinging door. It had not even stopped moving when it opened again and admitted the owner, John Fortune. The plump, balding man regarded her in surprise.

"Isn't it strange how things happen?" he said. "I was thinking about you and here you are. Mignon, how are you?"

"I'm concerned," Mignon said. "Something has happened to another friend of mine today because I asked him to solve a mystery for my godson's family."

"This sounds serious," John said. "Who is it?"

"Hamilton Burger, the district attorney," Mignon said. "Someone has threatened his life."

John's eyebrows rose. "You have friends in high places, Mignon," he said. "How did you ever meet him?"

"Nevermind that." Mignon's gaze bored into his. "The threat consisted of a bloodied voodoo doll sent to his office. A pin had been stuck through its heart. Do you know anyone who could have done such a thing?"

John frowned and looked away, clearly troubled. "No," he said. "No, I can't say that I do." He spoke to the counter instead of to Mignon.

She frowned. "Why don't you face me when you're speaking, John?" She stepped closer. "You do know something about this, don't you."

He jerked up with a start. "No!" he exclaimed. "No, I swear, Mignon, I . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I . . . I mean, I'm sure it's not the same guy. That would be too weird a coincidence!"

She placed her hands on the counter, leaning forward. "Who, John?"

He started to pace, agitated now. "I don't know his name," he said. "He comes in sometimes and buys trinkets here and there. He always pays with cash. Today he came in and said he wanted half a dozen voodoo dolls. I asked if they were for anything in particular. He sort of shrugged and said he was going to try out voodoo black magic with the doll and see if it would really work. I saw him holding a pin over the doll's heart, kind of toying with it, but he didn't poke it through or anything. I didn't really think much of it. I thought he was joking!"

"Voodoo black magic isn't a laughing matter," Mignon said. "What does this man look like?"

John finally stopped pacing and stared into the distance as he considered his answer. "He's tall and thin," he mused. "And he always wears a black coat and hat." He sighed. "I think he's some kind of amateur voodoo priest. Or at least he wants to be."

"Do you know anyone who might know his name?" Mignon queried. It was a slim lead. This mysterious man might not be the culprit she was looking for. There were many people who purchased voodoo dolls every day with the intent of using them. But right now it was all she had to go on.

"I'm sorry," John said, "I . . . wait a minute!" He perked up. "I remember seeing a card in his wallet when he opened it to take out the money."

"What sort of a card?" Mignon demanded.

"A paper rectangle, like a business card," John said. "It was for a nightclub. The uh . . . the Magic Noir! That's what it was." He looked at her. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"Yes." Mignon's eyes flickered. "I worked for them years ago before I took my current job."

"Maybe he works for them then," John suggested.

"Or he's a frequent patron. Either way, I'll visit the Magic Noir next." Mignon stepped back from the counter. "Thank you for your help, John."

"Wait a minute!" John exclaimed. He walked out from behind the counter. "Is it safe for you to go traipsing around playing detective like this?"

"I have a better chance of learning certain things than the police do," Mignon said. "Anyway, I should still have some friends at the Magic Noir." She started to turn away. "Thank you again, John. Goodbye."

John sighed, seeing he could not talk her out of it. "Well, don't be a stranger," he said. "Come in again soon! I'll be going crazy until I find out what's happening and if I've been entertaining a murderer-hopeful!"

Mignon nodded. "I'll be in again as soon as I can." With that she opened the door and passed into the cool night.

xxxx

Paul leaned against the wall, both worn-out and exasperated.

The police had concluded their initial examination of the basement several minutes ago. They had said that unless someone was underneath the cement part, it was unlikely that there was a body buried there. They tended to believe as Paul did, that the finger had been planted. It was still being scrutinized by the lab, but they felt that they would have a report by the time they returned to the station.

"What a night," he muttered.

"You're telling me," Douglas groaned from his desk. "The last thing I expected to find when I came home from work was policemen all over the house talking about bodies in the basement!"

"Well, at least it doesn't seem likely Vivalene planted her own earring," Paul frowned.

"She could have lost it while planting the bone, I guess," Douglas said, "but I don't think so. She's too smart for that. She would have noticed losing it."

"Her friends check out," Paul said. "They said she'd been talking about losing the thing for the last couple of days."

Douglas shook his head. "I don't know how she's mixed up in this, but I know she must be. A tarantula like her doesn't show up without a devious scheme in mind."

". . . Interesting terminology," Paul remarked.

"I've got words a lot more colorful than that for her," Douglas said. He slumped back, bitter. "I was doing just fine without her. Why did she have to blow in again?"

Suddenly he jerked, looking to Paul. "I shouldn't be burdening you with all this," he said. "I'm so upset, I guess it's got to come out somehow, to someone."

"I'm just glad to have someone willing to cooperate," Paul said. "You have no idea how many people just clam up and refuse to talk at all."

"I can guess," Douglas said.

A shadow fell in the doorway. In surprise they looked up at a worried Martha. Douglas got up from the desk, bewildered.

"Someone tried to break into Amethyst's house," Martha announced before he could ask.

Douglas stiffened. "Is Howie alright?" he demanded. The color had drained from his face.

"I think so," Martha said shakily. "Thank God. The police came here to tell us. Our phone's been busy for hours." She frowned. "One of the extensions must be off the hook."

Paul stared. "That's another weird coincidence, isn't it?"

Martha nodded. "But right now I don't care. I'm going over there now to get Howie."

She did not even need to ask Douglas if he was coming. He had already come around the desk, concern in his eyes. Paul watched them.

"Are the police checking to see which phone's off the hook?" he wondered.

"Yes," Martha said. "They said something about checking for fingerprints when they find the right one."

"If someone left it off the hook deliberately to keep you from finding out, I'm sure they're smart enough not to leave fingerprints," Paul said.

"Probably so," Douglas said. "But I can hope, at least."

"I wish we could pin it on that woman," Martha said angrily as she hurried for the front of the house, Douglas and Paul hot on her heels. "Anything to give her a reason to get out."

"If she's responsible, we'll find out," Paul vowed. "I'd like to see her out of here too."

As they headed out of the house and to their cars, the curtains in Vivalene's living room fluttered. Paul whirled, his heart gathering speed. No one was there. At least, no one visible. There was little doubt about it—they were more than likely being watched. Maybe someone would sneak into the house while they were all gone.

He reached his car and pulled open the door. "You go ahead," he said to the Petersons. "I'll be right behind you."

Martha blinked and looked back. "Of course," she said.

Paul waited until she and Douglas were in their car and driving away. Getting into his own car, he pulled out from the curb and followed them around the corner. He quickly parked and got out, keeping in the shadows of the trees and the houses as he moved to where he could clearly see the Petersons' residence. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Hello, Pete?" He studied the two ominous mansions. "I've got a job for you. Come out to the San Fernando Valley as fast as you can."

xxxx

Hamilton watched Howie as they sat in the living room, waiting for Amethyst's parents and for some report on the Petersons' house. The kid was quiet, frowning while rearranging the books on the coffee table.

"He was coming for me."

Hamilton started at the sudden, almost whispered words. He stared at Howie in disbelieving amazement. "What?"

Howie opened a hardcover pictorial book on The Beatles, flipping through it without knowing or caring what it was about. "The guy at the window. He wanted me."

Hamilton got off the couch and went around to the other side of the table, bending down to be at Howie's eye level. "Why would he want you, Howie?" he asked.

Howie closed the book and grabbed another. "'Cause I saw him at the house."

"Your house?"

Howie nodded.

". . . But you told the police that you didn't see the man at the window," Hamilton reminded him.

"Amethyst said that," Howie said. "I let her."

Hamilton was more bewildered by the moment. "Why?"

"She really didn't see him. I thought maybe if she didn't know I knew, the guy wouldn't come after her," Howie said. He looked up at Hamilton. "But I don't want him to come after me, either. Maybe he's back at the house and that's why no one can call on the phone!"

Hamilton pondered on this information. It was certainly an unexpected twist. "What did you see him doing back at the house?" he queried. "When you saw him before, I mean."

"He was in the yard," Howie said. Again he gravitated to the oversized books. "When he saw me he ran over and grabbed me and told me if I told anyone about him, he'd come back and kill Mom and Dad."

His matter-of-fact tone chilled Hamilton as much as what he was saying. Hamilton was certainly not an expert in child psychology, but to hear one so young describe something that horrible in such a voice bespoke the depth of how it had affected him.

"And you thought he'd hear you if you and your friend told the police officer what he looked like," Hamilton said.

"Yeah. He's probably got spies and stuff around."

"Then . . . why are you telling me?" Hamilton watched him carefully. "We've only met a few times."

Howie shrugged. "You're Mignon's friend," he said. "She trusts you a lot."

"Alright," Hamilton said. "Nevermind about that for now. Will you tell me what this guy looks like?"

Howie nodded. "He was big and mean," he said, gesturing with his hands. "I mean really big! Like guys on TV who can punch people they're mad at and they go flying! And he had a beard."

"What color is his hair?" Hamilton asked, making a mental note of this.

"Black," Howie said. "And his eyes are mean. Oh, and he had something on his arm. I saw it when he grabbed me!"

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Was it a mark, like a scar?"

Howie shook his head. "It was a picture," he said. "It went like this." He drew a straight line in the air and then two curved pieces at its bottom.

Hamilton frowned, trying to use his imagination to figure out what it was. At the moment, he did not have the time to bother. He wanted a concrete answer. "Could you draw it on a piece of paper?" he asked.

"Yeah." Howie got up and crossed to the desk. Taking a sheet of paper on top of a stack, he grabbed a pencil and started on a crude sketch. Hamilton stood and followed, looking over Howie's shoulder.

"That looks like an anchor," he said.

And then he froze. Howie's description, complete with this tattoo, reminded him of something.

Someone who very closely matched that description worked for Vivalene.


	6. Plans

**Notes: Say Hello to Officer Pete Malloy from **_**Adam-12**_**, making a cameo appearance. The officer in the previous chapter is Jim Reed, his partner.**

**Chapter Six**

Andy sighed, tossing the medical examiner's preliminary report onto his desk. There were still no valid leads on the murderer. The possibilities he and the others assigned to the case had been following had all petered out. Now they were back to Square One.

It was a baffling mystery, and a disturbing one. A passing hiker had discovered the mutilated body late that morning. The poor man was still shaking. And even the police, despite having seen so many unspeakable things, were unsettled by the state of the corpse. Andy could name several who would very likely have nightmares tonight. He was not so sure that he would sleep well, either.

The knock on the door brought him to attention. "Come in," he called.

Lieutenant Tragg stepped into the room. "Hello, Andy." He was carrying an old shoebox. "How's the murder investigation coming?"

Andy shook his head. "I'm starting to believe that over half of a policeman's time is taken up by false alarms."

Tragg looked amused. "You've been on the force all these years and you're only discovering that now?"

Andy replied with a vaguely put-out look. ". . . What's with the box?" he wondered.

Tragg set it down on Andy's desk. "Someone sent it to Mr. Burger this afternoon. The boys at the lab just finished examining it."

Andy leaned over, peering inside. "Someone has a sick sense of humor."

Tragg nodded. "They even used real blood."

Andy jerked up. "Human blood?" he gasped.

"Not only that, but it's the same blood type as Mr. Burger's. Someone was doing their research."

Andy was appalled. He sank back in his chair. "You think you've seen it all. Then something happens that completely disproves that idea."

"When you get to be my age, you'll know that people always find new ways to get worse." Tragg perched on the edge of the desk.

"I suppose that's true." Andy sighed. "Did they find any fingerprints?"

Tragg shook his head. "This person was determined to not be caught." Out of the corner of his eye he noticed something on the report of the murder case. He picked it up.

Andy blinked in surprise at his widening eyes. "What is it?"

"An odd coincidence. The murder victim had the same blood type as Mr. Burger." Tragg frowned deeply.

"You're wondering if it actually is a coincidence," Andy deduced. Now he was reeling himself. Of course, there were hundreds, likely thousands, of people in Los Angeles alone with that blood type. But it was still strange. There was no doubt of that.

Tragg nodded. "We shouldn't overlook the possibility of a connection, at least," he said. "What do you have on the victim so far?"

"There was no identification," Andy said. "We didn't find out who it was until the medical examiner finished his preliminary examination. Other than that, we still have very little."

Tragg glanced over the rest of the person's statistics. "Has the family been contacted?" he wondered.

"We've tried. They're overseas. The police in France are going to find them." Andy paused, sickened as something else occurred to him. "If there is a connection, you don't think he would have been killed just so some of his blood could be taken for this voodoo doll?"

Tragg looked down at the paper. "I would hate to think so," he said. "And it sounds preposterous. Unfortunately, we both know that people have been killed for even less reason than that."

"But mutilated too?" Andy returned. "No. . . . Surely there must have been a specific reason for wanting that person dead. Either that or he was the victim of a serial killer."

"Or a homicidal maniac." Tragg shook his head. "We might even be dealing with a vicious hired assassin."

Andy frowned. That could very well be true.

"The medical examiner thinks he was killed a couple of hours before he was found," he said. "That would leave more than enough time for someone to have harvested a small portion of the blood and shipped this shoebox to Mr. Burger."

"Yeah." Tragg studied the doll again. "You know what the strangest thing about this is?"

"Even stranger than using real blood?" Andy returned. "With the matching blood type?"

"The pieces of hair they used. Those checked out as being Mr. Burger's."

Andy's jaw dropped. "Don't tell me someone sneaked into his house while he was sleeping and helped themselves."

"Somehow I don't think so," Tragg said, smiling slightly in spite of himself. "The more likely explanation is that someone took the clippings after his last barber appointment. That _could_ prove to be our most useful lead."

"You mean the one who sent the doll might work at the barbershop," Andy said.

"Or it could be an accomplice of his," Tragg said. "It's closed now, but I was just about to go find the owner at his house. Want to come along?"

"Since there is a chance our cases are connected, yes," Andy said, getting up.

xxxx

Della looked up as Perry came into the reception room. From his deep scowl, dinner had not gone well. She stood and walked around her desk to the open doorway, trying not to feel too smug. "Well, how was our little miss Vivalene tonight?" she greeted, folding her arms over her chest.

"Terrible," Perry returned. "As usual." He took off his hat. "She started feeding me some fake sob story about Paul and Hamilton both refusing to help her."

"Well," Della said, "I _did_ warn you."

"Yes, you did," Perry sighed. "But I had to see for myself anyway. It wasn't a waste of time; now I'm convinced she's involved with what's happening to the Petersons."

"That's something, I suppose," Della said. She reached to take his coat.

Perry stopped her, laying his hands on her shoulders. "Della . . . how would you like to go to dinner?"

Della raised an eyebrow. "So I'm just an afterthought when it didn't work out with Vivalene," she said.

"Of course not," Perry retorted. "You know there's nothing between her and me."

Finally Della smiled. "It's still nice to hear you say it." She collected her coat. "Alright, Chief. Let's go."

Relieved, Perry drew his arm around her shoulders and led her into the reception room.

xxxx

Hamilton came to attention when a knock sounded at Amethyst's front door. The police, who had lingered just in case the burglar returned, also looked up.

"I'll get that," one of them, who had introduced himself as Officer Malloy, said. He crossed the room, staying on guard as he opened the door.

"We're here for Howie," a worried woman exclaimed.

Hamilton stood. "That's . . ." But before he could finish, Howie tore past.

"Mom! Dad!" the kid cried joyously.

Officer Malloy stepped aside to allow Martha Peterson to scoop Howie into her arms.

Hamilton walked over. "Where's Paul?" he wanted to know.

Douglas frowned. "He said he'd catch up," he said. "He must be running later than he thought."

Malloy opened the door wider. The Petersons came in, followed by the officers who had escorted Martha and Douglas.

As if on cue, Hamilton's phone rang. He pulled it out, blinking in surprise to see Paul's name on the I.D. "Excuse me," he said. "I have to take this call." He crossed to a corner of the room away from everyone else and opened the phone.

"Hello?"

"Can I talk to you in private?" Paul asked low.

"It's fine," Hamilton said. "Go ahead."

"I'm still at the Petersons' house," Paul said. "Some of the police are still here too."

"Why hasn't anyone been able to get through on the phone?" Hamilton demanded.

"One of the extensions was left off the hook," Paul said. "We just found out about it when the officers showed up to tell the Petersons about Howie."

"Doesn't anyone know how it happened?" Hamilton frowned.

"Both Martha and Douglas swear they didn't touch it. So do the police. The really weird thing about it is that it was an extension up on the third floor. Hardly anyone even uses that one."

"Were the police up there tonight?"

"Yeah. And one of them could have accidentally bumped it, it's true. Only the way it was positioned, you could tell it had been deliberately left off the hook. It was just setting on the desk next to the body of the phone. The police tried dusting it for fingerprints, but they didn't have any luck."

"The way this has been going, I wouldn't expect too much else," Hamilton said. "But Paul, we have a possible lead. Howie described the burglar. He said it's a man who was hanging around the Petersons' yard a few days ago. And then I remembered that three years ago, Vivalene had a bodyguard who fit that description."

He could hear Paul perking up, even over the phone. "Give me the description," he said. "I'll be on the lookout for him."

Hamilton related it just as Howie had told it to him. "Be careful how you handle it," he cautioned. "He's dangerous. He threatened to kill Mr. and Mrs. Peterson if Howie told anyone about seeing him."

"Just a kid like that?" Paul was angry now. "Don't worry. I'll make sure to keep the Petersons out of it, whatever I do."

"Good. Let me know what happens. I might come back with the Petersons to look the house over a second time. Oh, have the spooks come out again?"

"The police found a couple more cold spots," Paul said. "I'm telling you, even if ghosts aren't causing it, that's just bizarre."

"_If?"_ Hamilton chuckled. "Come on, Paul, don't tell me you believe . . ."

"I'm just saying," Paul interrupted. "And I think Pete Kelton's shown up. I asked him to come out and watch the house tonight. I've got to go."

"That's a good idea. Alright. I'll talk to you later."

Hamilton hung up and walked back to the group. Howie was telling about the prowler to his parents, who were a captive audience. But he omitted the fact that he had seen the man's face.

Officer Malloy stepped over to Hamilton. "That kid's had quite the experience," he remarked. "It'll make him an instant celebrity at school once the news gets out."

Hamilton nodded, thoughtful. "Did you run that description yet?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"Reed ran it through," Malloy said, referring to his partner. "He was just telling me about it while you were on the phone. The guy working for Vivalene who matches it is still on her payroll, as far as the records show."

"What about his own record?" Hamilton wanted to know. "He had several past arrests for assault, but no convictions. I checked three years ago."

"He's had a couple more out of state since then," Malloy said wearily. "And there were two other guys who also matched that description. One of them works at the docks. The other one helps out at a gym. Neither one of them have any criminal record."

"Thank you," Hamilton said.

He looked back to the Petersons. Howie had gone into the kitchen to say goodbye to Amethyst. Hamilton walked over to Martha and Douglas.

"Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, I have to tell you—Howie saw the person who tried to break into the house," he said soberly. "He doesn't want to tell you, I can only assume because of what he told me about how this man threatened him the other day."

Both of them stared at him. "What do you mean?" Martha gasped.

"And why would he tell you?" Douglas frowned.

"I honestly don't know," Hamilton said. He went on to explain about the frightening encounter and the cruel threat. The Petersons were horrified.

"Howie's been carrying this burden for days and didn't breathe a word," Douglas said, stunned.

"Our poor boy!" Martha looked back to Hamilton. "He must be so afraid. What can we do?"

"There's at least three possible suspects," Hamilton said. "With your permission, I'd like to have Howie talk to a police sketch artist. He might be able to describe this man in further detail and we could pin down which one it is."

Martha and Douglas exchanged looks. "What if this man finds out?" Douglas asked at last.

"We would take every possible precaution," Hamilton said. "And for all of your safety, it might be better if you don't go home until it's completely resolved."

Another exchange of looks. "We'll have to talk about it," Douglas said.

"And to Howie about it," Martha added.

"Of course," Hamilton said. But he had to hope it would not take long for them to make up their minds.

xxxx

Andy sighed in exasperation as he and Lieutenant Tragg turned away from the barbershop owner's front door. The man was either not home or refusing to answer. And without a warrant, they could not get inside when all seemed quiet and peaceful.

"Well, good evening, boys."

Both policemen jumped a mile at the sudden purr. A beautiful redhead was slinking towards them in a silky green evening gown.

Tragg watched her carefully. When he spoke, it was with an air of faux friendliness. "Well, Vivalene. Imagine meeting you all the way out here."

Andy looked to him in shock. "You know her?" he hissed.

Vivalene smirked as she drew closer. "Oh, the Lieutenant and I go way back," she said. "But I don't believe _we've_ ever met." She tossed one end of her matching silk boa around Andy's shoulders. "I'd like to rectify that."

Andy stared at her. "Lieutenant Anderson, Miss," he stammered. "Andrew Anderson."

"He's not interested in your trickery," Tragg snapped. "Leave him be." All traces of congeniality were gone.

Again Andy was stunned. For Tragg to have such a strong reaction, Vivalene must be a rare breed. He reached up, disentangling himself from the boa as he waited to see how the conversation would progress.

Vivalene just pouted. "You're getting rather overprotective, Arthur," she said. "Surely you don't think I mean any harm. I just came along and saw you and thought I'd greet an old friend. And maybe make a new one." She winked at Andy.

"Yes," Tragg nodded, thoughtfully musing now. "Isn't it curious that you 'just came along' right here. And dressed like that to boot. You don't have a date with Mr. Owen the barber, perhaps?"

Vivalene gave him a coy, painted smile. "Perhaps."

"A bit of friendly advice. I don't believe his wife would appreciate it."

The slightly taken-aback look the woman bore for a split-second made Andy wonder all the more what was going on.

"You didn't know he was married?" he asked carefully.

"Of course not," Vivalene said regally, flinging the boa around her neck.

"Or maybe you're not here for a date at all," Tragg suggested. "Maybe your business runs along other lines."

"I don't think he accepts house calls for haircuts, darling," Vivalene smirked.

"I was thinking more along the lines of . . . shall we say, voodoo black magic?" Tragg said.

Vivalene laughed. "What a vivid imagination you have! I don't believe in such silly things."

"Then that's probably the only thing you have in common with Hamilton Burger," Tragg said. "Oh, and by the way, I'm afraid you're out of luck in any case. No one's home." He indicated the dark house.

Vivalene did not seem surprised. "What a shame," she said. "I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. I don't suppose you gentlemen would like to escort me on the town tonight?"

"Sorry," Tragg said. "I don't think we can work that into our schedule."

"We're still on duty," Andy added.

"And we should be going." Tragg touched the brim of his hat. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Vivalene said with a bored, resigned wave.

As soon as his back was turned she sidled up to Andy. "Call me later," she whispered in her smoky voice. She passed him a slip of paper and stepped away in the next instant.

Andy stared at the paper as they walked back to the squad car. All that was written on it was a phone number.

Without even looking back Tragg said, "She gave you her number, eh?"

"It looks that way," Andy said. He pocketed the paper. "What was all that about? Who is that woman?"

Tragg shook his head. "One of the most devious _femme fatales_ I've ever met." He opened the car door and climbed inside.

Andy got in on the other side. "She acted like you have some sort of sordid past together," he frowned. "She even called you by your first name."

Tragg started the engine and pulled away from the curb. "Oh, she tried to get in with me three years ago," he said. "She tried the same thing on Mr. Burger and Perry Mason and Paul Drake."

He neglected to mention that in spite of the heavy age gap, he had started to fall for her charms at first. That was not something he felt like sharing with Andy, or anyone else, for that matter. He would rather sweep it under the rug and forget about it entirely. And until he had learned of Vivalene's return today, he had been doing exactly that.

Andy raised an eyebrow. "Just how far did she try to 'get in with you'?" he asked.

"We went to dinner. That was all." Tragg drove just out of sight of the house and parked. "Her ultimate goal was to turn at least one of us crooked and get us on her payroll. She wanted allies in high places."

"And now she's going to start in on me," Andy realized. "But what connection could she have with the barber?"

"I don't know," Tragg sighed. "Mr. Burger's friend Mignon Germaine thinks she's mixed up in the shenanigans with the Peterson family's house." He had already explained the basics of the case to Andy on their way to Mr. Owen's residence. Now he watched Vivalene come from around the side of the house and head towards what must be her car.

Andy fingered the paper in his pocket. "Maybe I should pretend to go along with her for a while and see if I can learn anything," he said. "She doesn't know anything about me. I could make it convincing."

Tragg gripped the steering wheel. "She's capable of murder," he said. "We haven't been able to prove it, but all the evidence points to the fact that she almost killed two teenage boys in Oregon after they outlived their usefulness to her."

"She really doesn't discriminate on age, does she," Andy observed as she started her car and drove off down the block. When she was far enough ahead, Tragg started off in quiet pursuit.

"Make no mistake, Andy," he said. "I think you might be able to find something out. But you need to be aware of what you'd be getting into."

"We risk our lives every day," Andy said. "I'd be careful."

Tragg turned the corner. "You don't need my permission, Andy. You're not under my tutelage any more." He started to smirk in mischief in the darkness. "And I would love to see Vivalene's expression when she realizes that for once _she's_ been had."


	7. Suspect

**Chapter Seven**

The Magic Noir Club was in the middle of a floorshow when Mignon entered. As she stepped through the gate, escorted by the maitre-d', she glanced in the direction of the stage. A woman dressed as an Egyptian priestess was in the middle of performing a pagan ritual. Purple smoke was rising from the altar set up in front of her.

Mignon frowned to herself. The Magic Noir's shows were usually rip-offs of the shows put on by Mignon's current place of employment.

"Does Alyse DeGruis still work here?" she queried.

"Why, yes she does," the maitre-d' said in surprise. "Her show is on next."

"I came here to speak with her," Mignon said. "I'm an old friend, Mignon Germaine."

The maitre-d' stopped in surprise and turned to look at her. "Mignon Germaine!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea. You're still talked about around here."

"Unfavorably, for leaving?" Mignon said.

"Well . . . some of the staff doesn't understand why you left." The maitre-d' looked awkward now. "I'll take you to Ms. DeGruis' dressing room."

"Thank you." Mignon walked with him along the edge of the room and through a door leading backstage. As he reached a dressing room and knocked, Mignon came alongside.

"What is it?" Alyse called. "I'm busy."

"It's Mignon Germaine to see you, Ms. DeGruis," the maitre-d' announced.

Instantly footsteps ran across the floor and the door was flung open. "Mignon!" Alyse exclaimed in delight. "Come in!" She reached to grab for Mignon's wrist to pull her into the room.

Mignon stepped inside before she had the chance to take hold. "I see you've become the main attraction," she noted. "This is the star's dressing room."

Alyse nodded with enthusiasm, shutting the door behind them. "I just wish you still worked here, Mignon," she said. "We could have an act together."

Mignon crossed the room, glancing at a voodoo doll sitting to the side of Alyse's mirror. "I'm afraid my visit isn't social, Alyse," she said, turning back to face her friend. "I've come because I'm looking for a man who purchased a voodoo doll today and threatened to use it in a black magic ritual. My only clue is that he may be either a staff member or a patron of this establishment."

Alyse's eyes widened in surprise. "It must be important for you to find him," she said. "I never dabble in black magic, so I can't imagine who he might be."

"Your doll is still used for good luck, I imagine," Mignon said. "But perhaps you've seen him around the club? He's a tall, thin man who favors a dark hat and trenchcoat. I've heard that he may be an amateur, renegade _vodun_ priest."

Alyse frowned as she considered the question. "You know, I think I _have_ seen him," she said. "Yeah, I'm almost sure of it. He sits off to Stage Right during my shows."

"How often does he come?"

"Oh . . . every few days or so," Alyse said. "He might come tonight."

"Do you go on soon?"

"In about ten minutes." Alyse stepped closer to the door. "If you want, you can go out and wait and see if he shows up. He might be out there now."

"Thank you. I'll do that." Mignon walked back to the door and stopped. "Is there any way you can find out who he is?"

"I can ask the manager," Alyse said. "But I don't think he'd like you looking for the guy. I'll have to tell him I'm just curious about him, since he's at so many of my shows. That's not a lie, anyway."

Mignon opened the door. "Charles Harold never did like me, even when I worked for him," she remarked.

"He holds a grudge against you for leaving and going over to our main competitor, too," Alyse said.

"I can't do anything about that," Mignon said. Nor did she particularly care. Charles Harold, and the way he ran the Magic Noir Club, was one of the main reasons she had left. She moved to step into the backstage area outside.

"Wait!" Alyse exclaimed. "If that guy is here, what are you going to do? Just go over and sit at his table to talk?"

"I'm not certain yet," Mignon admitted. "It might be better to quietly observe him for a while and see what he does."

"Well, if he's dangerous, I just hope you don't get yourself in trouble," Alyse declared.

"I'll be careful," Mignon promised.

She walked out and over to the curtain at the edge of Stage Right. Taking care to not be seen, she moved the heavy curtain just enough to see out at the ringside tables. She was in luck—a man matching the description John Fortune had given her was sitting at the one closest to her position by the stage. He was looking down at something half-concealed by his open coat. Judging by one visible cloth arm, it was likely a voodoo doll.

Mignon slid the curtain back into place and turned away. As she crossed back to where she had entered the backstage area and came out into the main room, she considered her options.

She was angry about what had happened concerning the threat to Hamilton Burger. Her preference was to walk over and confront the man outright. But she might only disrupt a possible chance to catch him, if he was the guilty party. He could always jump up and bolt for the door. If instead she waited, biding her time and maybe even following him if he left, he might say or do something that would prove he was the one. Maybe he would even inadvertently lead her to those who had hired him, if anyone had.

She recognized, however, that it was a far bigger problem than she could deal with all on her own, especially if he were to do the latter. And she did not want to cause Hamilton any further trouble.

And so she opted to slip into a public phonebooth. She would call the police and explain what she had learned so far. Perhaps Hamilton's friend Lieutenant Tragg would be available.

xxxx

Douglas approached Hamilton several moments later.

"We've decided to do what you're asking," he said. "I just feel horrible that all this is happening because of me. It's bad enough someone's trying to rout us out of our home. But when they go after Howie they've gone too far." He clenched a fist. "He's so young. Don't they have any decency at all?"

"It doesn't look that way, Mr. Peterson," Hamilton said. "But what do you mean about this happening because of you?"

Douglas threw his hands in the air in resignation. "I guess Mignon told you about the map I found," he said. "And that I think a treasure is hidden somewhere in the house."

"Yes," Hamilton said. "Mignon told me about that. It's the only motive she could think of as to why anyone would want you out of your house."

Douglas nodded. "Martha thought we should get out when the strange things started happening. She was worried about Howie's safety. But I insisted that all of us stay. And now _this!_" He started to pace, then stopped in front of Hamilton. "I've been so foolish, putting that treasure ahead of my family's safety."

"Who all knows about the map?" Hamilton asked.

"I didn't tell anyone outside of the family," Douglas said. "Mignon is part of the family too, you realize. But Howie, well . . . you know how boys are. When I found the map he was just as excited as I was. He went to school talking about it and how we were going to find buried treasure on the property."

"So any of the kids' parents or the school's staff could have heard about it," Hamilton said.

"Yes," Douglas said. He hit his fist into his palm. "I wish I'd never found that rotten map."

"Do you have it with you?" Hamilton asked.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, I carry it around with me in my briefcase." Douglas got up and soon returned with the leather case. Lifting the lid, he took out a folder that contained a single sheet protector. Inside it was a torn piece of yellowed parchment.

Hamilton reached for it. "May I?"

Douglas agreeably handed it over. Hamilton frowned as he studied it. "Mr. Peterson, which part of the house is this map showing?"

"The third floor," Douglas said. "But it's only the top half of the map. My guess is that the bottom half eventually chases the treasure into the basement."

"But you don't know for sure," Hamilton said.

"No, I don't," said Douglas. "I've been checking all the floors where I can, but Martha doesn't want me tearing up the whole house looking for it."

"That's understandable, especially since you might not find it anyway." Hamilton squinted at one of the torn edges. "What room is this?"

Douglas shrugged. "Search me. The place where the room should be, it isn't."

Hamilton looked up in surprise. "What's there instead?"

"The hall. And I know, I've thought about secret passageways and all that kind of thing. There's nothing! And the spot marked as the room is now right in the middle of the hall!" Douglas glowered at the map. "I even checked to find out if there were any records of a renovation and the room being torn out. Nothing."

"The records could have been lost," Hamilton said.

"They probably were," Douglas grumbled. "But anyway, I'm willing to give up all thoughts of the treasure now. I don't want Martha and Howie to be put in danger because of my greed."

Hamilton handed back the sheet protector. "And there aren't any other reasons you can think of for someone to try to drive you out of your house?"

"None," Douglas said. "What other reason could there be?"

Hamilton paused. "This Vivalene woman. Could she have another reason?"

Douglas looked up with a jerk. "The treasure is what she's after," he said.

"And you know that for a fact," Hamilton said.

"Well, no." Douglas frowned at the floor. "But it all makes sense."

Hamilton sighed. "Yes, it does. And it fits with what we know about Vivalene, too."

"Mr. Burger . . ."

Hamilton glanced over. Now Douglas looked worried. "What's going to happen to us after Howie talks to the sketch artist?"

"I'll arrange with the police for all of you to disappear while we're investigating," Hamilton said. "I don't know where you'll be taken. But you'll have to use phony names for your own protection."

"It's not a long-term thing like the Witness Protection Program, is it?" Douglas shook his head. "I always thought that sounded like a miserable place to end up."

"It's better than six feet under the ground, Mr. Peterson," Hamilton said. "But it shouldn't be long-term, no. You should be able to go home and resume your lives."

Douglas considered that and nodded slowly. "Are we going to the police station then?"

"That's right. The sketch artist will be waiting after I call him." Hamilton reached for his phone. "I'll do that right now."

Douglas hesitated but then stepped back. "Good."

Hamilton watched him while dialing the number of the station. Douglas Peterson was hiding something. That was obvious. But was it something simple and innocuous? Or could it be the key to this entire mystery?

He glanced to Howie, who was drawing a picture as Martha looked on. Whatever Douglas's secret was, it had better not be something that would endanger his family even more. He seemed to honestly care and worry about them, and he could have some misplaced sense of protecting them by keeping quiet—which could lead to possible disaster and tragedy.

xxxx

Vivalene did not seem to have any special plans for the rest of the evening. Instead she drove home, alighted from her car, and went inside.

Tragg glanced to Andy. "Do you want to make your move now?"

Andy nodded, taking out his phone and the piece of paper. "I'll call her and pretend I'm just getting back to the station."

It only took a couple of rings before Vivalene answered. "Hello?" she purred.

Andy pushed the thought of her sashaying to the phone out of his mind. "Miss Vivalene? This is Lieutenant Anderson. I'm sorry about the reception you received earlier tonight. Lieutenant Tragg is . . . well, just as you said, overprotective."

"And I'm sure he's sore about the past too," Vivalene said. "Maybe he regrets how it didn't work out between us.

"But that's no matter! Lieutenant, I'm terribly glad to hear from you. Does this mean you'll be joining me after all?"

Andy glanced at Tragg, more curious than ever. "Well, I was telling the truth about still being on duty," he said. "I just arrived back at the station. I didn't have a chance to call you until I was back in my office, away from Lieutenant Tragg. However, I'll be off work in an hour or so. If that isn't too late for you . . ."

"Oh, of course not!" Vivalene broke in. "I'm quite a night owl when I want to be. And with the promise of a dashing young man coming to call, I _want_ to be."

"Good. Then I'll see you in perhaps an hour and a half?" Andy said. "Oh, and I'll need your address."

Vivalene recited it with memorized precision. "I'll see you then, Lieutenant," she said. "I'll be waiting with bells on."

Andy said goodbye and hung up. He shook his head as he replaced his phone. "She's something else," he said.

"She's anything she has to be to get the job done," Tragg said. "She'll be all charm with you while trying to reel you in."

Andy looked over, unable to hide his curiosity. "She certainly sounded like there was more than one dinner between the two of you," he said.

Tragg cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Eheh . . . well, I didn't exactly say there was just one," he mumbled.

Andy could not help the sneaking smile of amusement. "I don't believe it. She reeled you in, didn't she?"

"Not for long," Tragg finally retorted in irritation. "Alright, so I was a bit taken in at first. At my age, with my wife dead these years . . . well, Vivalene has a way of making a man feel wanted, when she wants to. Age doesn't matter then."

Andy sobered. "I'm sorry," he said.

Tragg shrugged it off. "I was a fool. Just for a few days, but a fool nevertheless. Andy, please don't make the same mistake I did." He turned to look at the younger lieutenant. "If it wasn't for her role in this mess, she wouldn't be worth your time."

Andy nodded. "I'll make this worth my time," he vowed.

At that moment the radio buzzed to life. "Lieutenant Tragg, Mignon Germaine is requesting you," the dispatcher announced.

Tragg's eyebrows shot up. "What on earth?" He grabbed the handheld. "Where is she?"

"In a payphone at the Magic Noir Club. She believes she may have in sight a suspect responsible for threatening Hamilton Burger."

Tragg motioned for Andy to give him a pad and pencil. "What's the address of this club?" He scribbled what he was told. "That's in downtown L.A.," he frowned. "I'm in the San Fernando Valley. Send a couple of plainclothesmen to the club. I'll be there as soon as possible."

"Lieutenant Tragg, Roger."

Tragg looked to Andy. "What are you going to do, Andy? You might be cutting the time close if you come downtown with me and then drive back out here."

"I think I'll stay here," Andy answered. "It looks like one of Paul Drake's operatives is watching the Peterson house. Maybe I'll talk to him and then have a look at the house myself."

Tragg nodded. "I'll see you later then. Let me know how it goes."

Andy climbed out of the car. "I will. Be careful at the club."

"It could be a false alarm, but who knows." Tragg started the engine. "We can't take the chance."

Andy stepped back, shutting the door. Once Tragg drove away, Andy turned towards the parked car. Noticing him, the driver got out and started in his direction.

"Hello," he said. "Lieutenant Anderson, isn't it?"

". . . That's right," Andy said. This was Pete Kelton. It always gave Andy a turn to see or talk with him. He looked and sounded so much like Andy's deceased friend Otto Norden that it was eerie. And it stirred up the old pain of his friend being gone.

"Nothing much is happening over there right now," Pete said, nodding at the Petersons' house. "Paul Drake is still inside with a couple of police officers, but they're probably about to close up."

"Is there a side entrance?" Andy asked. "I'd like to get inside, but I don't want the woman next-door to see me."

"It's right around there," Pete said, pointing to the left side of the house.

"Thank you," Andy said. He quickly took his leave.

xxxx

"You certainly pick interesting spots for dinner," Della remarked, glancing to the Egyptian-themed floorshow on the nightclub's stage as Perry pulled out a chair for her.

"I think so," Perry smiled. He sat down as well and picked up the menu.

Suddenly Della gasped. "Perry! Isn't that Mignon?"

Perry jerked to attention. When he followed Della's gaze, a woman dressed in black was just exiting a phonebooth. "Why, yes," he said in surprise.

"I wonder what she's doing here," Della said. "Perry, she looks worried."

"And she keeps looking over at that man in the dark coat," Perry said. "Who is he?"

"He's holding some kind of cloth doll," Della noted. "It's wearing a suit and has black hair."

"And he's sticking a pin through its heart," Perry exclaimed.

Mignon walked over near the stranger, trying to be casual as she glanced down at the doll. When she passed on by, her gait had stiffened. She hastened to the table where Perry and Della were, urgency in her eyes.

"Mr. Mason, Miss Street!" she greeted in a hushed voice.

"Mignon, whatever is wrong?" Perry frowned.

"I tracked that man here," Mignon said. "I thought he might be the one who sent a threat to Hamilton Burger this afternoon, in the form of a bloodied voodoo doll. Now I'm sure of it.

"Mr. Mason, now he's making a voodoo doll of you!"


	8. Secrets

**Notes: I decided I want to expand the scene between Hamilton and Mignon that I originally had as the ending. So instead I've written a new ending for this chapter. The other scene, greatly expanded, will begin chapter nine.**

**Chapter Eight**

Della was thunderstruck by Mignon's news. "Mignon, are you sure?" she gasped. But even as she asked, she was certain she knew the answer. The doll did look like it could be meant to resemble Perry. A cold feeling of alarm swept over her.

"I'm sure," Mignon said. "I've called the police, and they're sending some officers, but if he chooses not to stay I'll have to follow him."

Perry frowned deeply. "That's too dangerous," he said. "We don't know anything about this man. What if he does more than just craft immature threats?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if everything he does is connected with _vodun_," Mignon said. "He seems to consider himself an amateur priest. What I don't know is whether or not he actually has any power to cast spells."

"What do we do?" Della asked, worried. "Shouldn't we try to stall him until the police get here?"

"He should stay long enough to see my friend's performance, at least," Mignon said. "That's what he apparently comes for."

"It seems that he's going to make the first move," Perry announced as the lights came up between shows.

Della stared, her eyes wide. The man was now getting up from his table and coming over to them with slow, deliberate steps. Without saying a word he stood between Perry and Della and dropped the voodoo doll onto the table. Crimson was already seeping from the doll's chest.

Everyone jumped up, Della with an enraged cry. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

The man fixed her with a cold gaze. "Change of plans," he said. "I was going to send this to the district attorney. But when I saw Mr. Mason come in, I decided to let him see it first."

"It's not going to the district attorney's office and neither are you," Perry snapped, seizing his arm. "Who are you? Who hired you to do this?"

The man did not even try to resist Perry's grip. "I don't have to tell you anything," he said. "You're not my lawyer."

"And I wouldn't want to be," Perry retorted.

By now people at the surrounding tables were standing as well, gaping in shock at the scene. Ignoring them, Mignon stepped around the chairs to stand in front of her nemesis. Her eyes were narrowed in her anger and distaste.

"I asked Hamilton Burger to investigate what was happening at the Petersons' house," she said. "I never expected someone to send him a death threat, especially one as graphic as yours. I demand to know the name of your employer!"

He looked back, unaffected. "Mignon Germaine, Creole performer and the district attorney's close friend. I've heard a lot about you. I've seen your show sometimes too."

"I'm not surprised," Mignon said.

"Why are you so intent on protecting your boss?" Perry interrupted. "It might be easier for you if you would just tell us everything you know."

"I couldn't care less about the person who hired me," the man said. "I don't know who it is. Someone called me on the phone today and told me to try to scare some people who were poking their noses into other people's business. I'd find an envelope with several thousand dollars at my door if I said Yes. With stakes like that, I had no reason not to."

"So you decided to use voodoo dolls," Della said.

"They're effective. I can make their magic work, when I want." He smirked. "Sometimes all it takes is a little mind over matter."

"Unfortunately for you, we don't scare easily," Perry said. "The only thing you've accomplished is to ensure your arrest."

"And not a moment too soon," Della announced in relief. Two plainclothesmen had just entered the club and were making their way to the table. They showed their badges as they arrived.

"Lieutenant Tragg sent us," said one. "Is this the man we were notified about?"

"Yes, Officer," Mignon said. "I'm the one who called the station."

"I'm more than happy to turn him over to your capable hands," Perry said. "And you can take this as evidence." He pointed to the doll on the table.

The first policeman read the criminal his rights and proceeded to handcuff him. The second eyed the creation, not sure what to make of it.

"This is sick," he said. "What's it supposed to be?"

"Me," Perry said.

Moments later they were all departing the club, Perry, Della, and Mignon intending to follow the police to the station to make their statements. Perry took Della's arm as they walked.

"I'm sorry about dinner," he said quietly.

"Oh, don't be," said Della. "Maybe we're just destined to not have dinner tonight. Anyway, I'm more happy about getting this man arrested than I would be about eating with him running wild."

Perry smiled. "I'll make it up to you," he promised. "The club should still be open when we're done at the station."

His phone rang just as they were getting into his car. He took it out, easing himself into the driver's seat at the same time. "Hello?"

"Perry, it's Paul," came the familiar voice. "I'm still at the Petersons' place."

"What's happening, Paul?" Perry asked. "Anything interesting?"

"Well, Douglas did know Vivalene in the past," Paul said. "They even pulled a couple of criminal stunts together. But Douglas is clean now, he says. And he hasn't been able to bring himself to tell his wife about his time as a two-bit crook. He wanted to make sure it wouldn't have to go public."

"Have you told Hamilton about this?" Perry wondered.

"Since you wanted the information, I thought I should tell you first," Paul said. "But you are planning to tell Burger, right? I don't want any conflict of interest going on."

"No conflict of interest, Paul," Perry said. "After all, we're all working on this mystery together. Go ahead and let him know."

"Will do. Oh, and Andy's here."

Perry raised an eyebrow. "Andy? Why?" Della looked to him, curious at the mention of their policeman friend.

"I'm not sure what he's got going. He just said he was in the area and not to tell Vivalene that he was over here. He's been walking around the house, checking out the weird stuff for himself."

"What does he think of it?"

"He's not sure what to make of it. Who is?"

"You make a good point," Perry said. "Is that everything?"

Paul sighed. "Someone tried to break into a house where Howie Peterson was staying with a friend," he said. "His parents went over to get him."

Perry's eyes narrowed. "That's strange. Is Howie alright?"

"I think so. I was going to go over too, but I haven't gotten away yet."

"Alright, Paul. We've had some excitement here ourselves," Perry reported. "Right now we're on our way to the police station."

"_The police station?"_ Paul echoed in disbelief. "Perry, what's going on over there?"

"I'll tell you all about it later," Perry promised. "I have to go now."

"Okay. I should go too, actually. I'll make that call to Burger."

"Good. See you later, Paul."

"Bye, Perry."

"What was that all about?" Della asked as Perry hung up and started the engine.

"Paul's learned some interesting information," Perry said. "But right now I'm not sure how it might factor into the case, if it does at all."

He pulled out of the parking lot and after the already-departed police car.

xxxx

Thanks to Howie's memory and one of the best police sketch artists in Los Angeles, a composite of the burglar was ready within a couple of hours.

"Do you recognize him?" Vance Varney, the sketch artist, asked of Hamilton.

Hamilton frowned at the picture. "That's Vivalene's henchman," he said. "I had to question him as a witness three years ago. He was extremely uncooperative."

"We'll get an all-points bulletin out for him," Sergeant Nichols declared.

"And we're going to go away, right?" Douglas said.

"Yes," Hamilton assured him. But he was scrutinizing Douglas even as he spoke. He had received a phone call from Paul not long ago and had then questioned Douglas in private about the matter. Douglas had insisted that what he had told Paul was all there was to his past with Vivalene. Hamilton, however, was not sure. It still seemed to him that Douglas was holding back. He intended to investigate this angle more thoroughly.

"You can leave right now through the back way," Hamilton continued at last. "The police will drive you where you'll be safe. I'll see to it that some of your belongings are sent after you, if you tell me what you want included."

Grateful, Douglas and Martha named several items, among them several sets of clothing. Howie, who had sat quietly listening, finally spoke up.

"I want my truck."

Hamilton paused and looked to him. "Your truck?"

Howie gave a firm nod. "It's a big yellow dumptruck with a black back."

"It's his favorite toy," Martha interjected, looking apologetically at Hamilton.

"That's not a problem," Hamilton said. "I'll tell whoever goes to get your things to make sure to include Howie's truck."

Howie smiled.

"If that's everything, you should probably get away now," Hamilton went on, looking from Martha to Douglas.

Douglas nodded. "Thank you for everything you've done, Mr. Burger."

"Don't thank me until we get this solved," Hamilton said. "There could still be a long way to go."

"Well, we thank you anyway," Martha said. "You and the police have been good to us."

"Tell Paul Drake goodbye for us, won't you?" Douglas asked.

"I'll tell him," Hamilton said.

Howie climbed down from the chair. To Hamilton's shock, the boy reached up and wrapped his arms around Hamilton's waist. Then, pulling back, he hurried over to his parents. Two police officers escorted them to the back exit.

Sergeant Nichols came up beside Hamilton. "You've really made a friend there," he noted.

Hamilton turned away. "It's just because I'm his godmother's friend," he said. "He as much as admitted that."

"Oh, he really likes you," Nichols smiled. "I've got nephews and nieces. You can always tell when they're nuts about someone."

Hamilton glanced back at him and headed off down the corridor. "We'd better see what we can do about making it safe for him and his family to go home soon," he said.

"Hamilton!"

He jumped a mile at the call. "Perry?" he said in disbelief. Again he turned. Perry and Della were coming out of another room and over to him. "What are you doing here?"

"We caught the man who sent you that voodoo doll," Perry said. "He gave another one to me."

"Mignon was with us," Della put in. "A few minutes ago an officer came to tell us what was happening with the Petersons. She went to tell them goodbye."

"They're just leaving now," Hamilton said. "We thought it was best for them to go into protective custody for a while."

Perry nodded. "That's the safest thing for them right now."

"Hopefully it won't have to be for very long," Hamilton said. "We know who the man was that tried to break into Howie's friend's house. He worked for Vivalene. The police have an alert out on him."

"Good," Perry said. "What about Vivalene herself?"

"Oh, nevermind about her," Lieutenant Tragg said, suddenly appearing from the booking room. "Let's just say we already have an undercover man following up that angle."

"Andy," Perry guessed.

Tragg stared at him. "How did you . . . oh, why do I bother."

"What's he going to do?" Hamilton asked in surprise.

"Well, Vivalene was already making a play for him," Tragg said. "He's going to pretend to fall for her and see what he can learn."

"Let's just hope his act doesn't become more than an act," Della said.

Tragg looked to her. "Della, Andy's a professional. He wouldn't let himself plunge into that vixen's trap."

"He may be a professional, but he's also a man," Della said. "And I wouldn't be surprised if Vivalene has a record where she scratches off the number of conquests she's made."

"That part wouldn't surprise me either," Perry said. "But I'm sure Andy can handle it. Meanwhile, I promised you a dinner. Shall we try again?"

Della smiled. "Why not. Maybe the third time really will be the charm."

Tragg raised an eyebrow. "You've failed that many times tonight?"

"I have," Perry said. "But it will only be the second try with Della." He offered his arm, which Della took. They bade the others goodbye as they headed for the door.

Hamilton watched them go. "If we weren't almost at a standstill here, Perry wouldn't even stop for dinner," he remarked.

"And let a pretty young girl go hungry?" Tragg said as he came up next to his friend.

"I've heard it's happened before," Hamilton said. "Speaking of dinner, I was thinking of taking Mignon somewhere. Would you like to join us?"

"I would, if I wasn't still on duty," Tragg said. "Thank you anyway. Maybe next time."

Hamilton nodded. "I'll see you later then. Call me if there's any news."

"Will do," Tragg said.

xxxx

Andy slipped back out of the Petersons' mansion in enough time to keep his appointment with Vivalene. He kept to the shadows until he was on the sidewalk and then walked to the house next-door in full view of anyone at the windows. Pete Kelton's car was still across the street, but Andy gave no indication that he knew the occupant.

He headed up the stairs, across the front yard, and to the porch at a normal pace. When he knocked on the door, it did not take long for Vivalene to come and open it. She stood silhouetted in the light from the living room, still wearing the green silk dress.

"Why, darling, you're right on time," she purred. "Do come in." She moved aside, gesturing to the room beyond.

Andy took off his hat and stepped into the entryway. "Thank you," he said.

"I was thinking of sending for delivery if we're staying in," she mused. "But I'm perfectly happy with going out too."

"It would be easier to visit if we stay in," Andy said. "And I don't know much about you. You've intrigued me."

"Oh really?" Vivalene shut the door after him. "I'm honored. You've intrigued me too, Lieutenant. Policemen fascinate me." She walked into the living room proper, going for a phonebook on an end table. "I always wonder how they can work for years at a job that's so unfulfilling and depressing."

"It's a job that has to be done," Andy said as he followed her.

Vivalene flipped through the pages. "How long have you been on the force, darling?" she queried.

"Over fifteen years," Andy said.

He leaned on the back of the couch with one arm. "I heard from Lieutenant Tragg that you've been in Los Angeles before."

"Guilty as charged," Vivalene shrugged. "I ended up in a bit of legal trouble, but that got sorted out."

"So what brings you back again?" Andy asked.

Vivalene tapped out a number. "I just find the city exciting," she smiled. "Especially the people. There's so many charming men here." She winked at him.

Within moments the food had been ordered and Vivalene was leading Andy to the front of the couch. "It should be here within thirty minutes," she said, boldly taking hold of his hands. "Let's relax until then."

Andy let her, all the while staying on guard. What was her game? Did she just want allies in high places? Or did she have something else in mind for him?

"You know," Vivalene said as they got settled, "I've been hoping to find someone like you in L.A., someone willing to listen to me."

"What do you mean?" Andy questioned. "Are you in trouble again?"

Vivalene nodded. "Terrible trouble," she said sadly. "It's not true that I'm only in Los Angeles because I like it and the people. You see, I knew this man years ago, Douglas Peterson. He took something of mine, part of an old map that was a family legacy. And he won't give it back."

Andy frowned. "Why would he want your map?"

"It's complicated," Vivalene said with a rueful smile. "The house he lives in now used to belong to my sister. She told me about finding the map and said that I could have whatever it led to if something happened to her. Well, she's dead now and . . ." She shook her head. "I thought I'd be able to find whatever legacy she left me. Instead, Douglas managed to weasel his way into that house and is claiming the treasure for himself."

Andy stared at her. Just how much gall did she have? It was tempting to ask her if that was the sister she kept blaming for everything bad she did, but he held his tongue. That would blow his cover immediately.

"You don't believe me either," Vivalene said, seeing his shocked expression.

"N-No," Andy stammered, coming back to himself. "No, that isn't it at all. I'm . . . I'm just stunned that anyone would push you around like that. Isn't there anything you can do?"

Vivalene shrugged. "I've talked to lawyers. No one will help me, not even the acclaimed Perry Mason or the district attorney. They're both holding what happened three years ago against me, even though that's all past and done with! And I was never guilty in the first place!"

Andy moved closer to her on the couch. "The district attorney could lose his job if this gets out," he said.

"I know," Vivalene said. "But I can't bear to do that to him, even after everything he's done to me. I just want what's rightfully mine!"

Andy reached out, lifting her chin with a finger. "I can see that you get it," he said. "And I'm not as generous as you are. I'll see that the proper action is taken against the district attorney for how he's ignored you."

Vivalene searched his eyes for any hint of a lie. "Really?" she said softly. "You would help me, when we barely know each other?"

"I would like to get to know you better," Andy said. He leaned in, kissing her on the lips.

It did not take long for Vivalene to return it, throwing her arms around his neck. Andy held her close to him, his heart racing.

She was a beautiful woman. He could never deny that. But her falsehoods were endless and sickening. If it were not for this self-chosen assignment he would get away from her, repulsed.

He had never done something like this on a case before. Vivalene subscribed to lies and trickery on a regular basis, but that was not his way. He dealt with facts and using them to get to the truth. And now look at what he was doing to find the truth.

At the moment, he was not sure he felt much less repulsed about himself.

xxxx

The sirens were wailing loud in Martha Peterson's ears as she slowly regained consciousness. She groaned, brushing her wild hair out of her eyes. "Doug?" she called, still only half-awake. "Howie?"

The cold air was blowing in on her from the car's open door. She raised herself farther, her eyes wide with increasing panic.

Douglas was slumped next to the door, unconscious but stirring. In the front seat, the driver was sprawled over the steering wheel. His partner was awake, talking to a paramedic.

There was no one else in the vehicle.

Fully conscious now, Martha fumbled with the seatbelt and all but flew out of the car. "Howie?" she screamed. "Howie, where are you?"

The paramedic ran over to her. "Take it easy, ma'am," he exclaimed. "You've suffered a bad shock. Your car was run off the road and . . ."

"Where's Howie?" Martha interrupted, gripping at the man's arms. "He's only seven! Have you seen him? Has he been badly hurt?"

The paramedic looked at her with both confusion and horrified regret. "I'm sorry," he said. "There isn't a young boy anywhere around here. Your car is the only thing we've found."

Martha stiffened, staring at him without fully processing his words. But then it all slammed into her in one devastating realization. She let go, sinking to her knees on the cold highway. "No," she sobbed. _"No!"_

They had been run off the road. It had been a deliberate, malicious action. And whoever had done it had taken their son.


	9. Balcony

**Notes: Here is the expanded version of the scene that originally ended the previous chapter. If you only read the original, please check the previous chapter again for the new ending.**

**Chapter Nine**

Hamilton and Mignon had managed to find a peaceful location to eat not far from the police station. Mignon, worried about Howie, was finding it difficult to concentrate on any topics other than the Petersons' part of the case. Hamilton wanted to help her relax, if only for a short while. There was, however, something he had to say before moving to more innocuous conversation.

"That was some pretty impressive detective work you did today," he said as they waited for their order to arrive.

"My contact is the sort of person who doesn't trust the police," Mignon said. "They would have had a much more difficult time getting him to cooperate."

"I see," Hamilton said. He shook his head. "But then tracking that guy to the nightclub . . . that could have been dangerous. You had no idea what he was capable of doing."

"There were so many people around, I doubted he would try to get rid of me there."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but if you thought he was using _black magic_, wouldn't you have then thought that he would have been able to injure or kill you without laying a finger on you?" Hamilton said.

"I wasn't sure if he had the power to cast spells," Mignon said. "Just because he may have learned how doesn't mean he would be able to put that knowledge into practice."

". . . Of course," Hamilton said. "But Mignon, the point is that one way or another, you put yourself in a lot of danger. I don't want you to do that, especially for me."

A slight smile tugged at Mignon's lips. "Hamilton, are you saying that you believe I was in danger, even if solely from the dark magic of the occult?"

Hamilton rocked back, surprise and discomfort written across his features. "No," he protested. "That's not what I meant. But _you_ believe in black magic, so regardless of how I feel on that subject, you must have at least considered that you could be in danger."

". . . I felt I would be able to protect myself," Mignon said at last. "I was outraged by that threat against you. You've already been in life-threatening danger more than once in the past weeks." She repositioned the menu on the table. "There was that scare where for several days all of Los Angeles thought you were dead."

Hamilton winced. "I know that was hard on you and Larry," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It was hard, but then it was over. You came to let us know you were alive and safe." Mignon looked at him, unwavering. "I don't want to be responsible for it becoming more than a scare."

The waiter arrived with their dinner, interrupting the somber moment. "Thank you," Hamilton said to him when he set the food on the table. The waiter nodded and bowed out.

Hamilton turned his attention to cutting the meat. For a moment he was silent, but then at last he looked up again.

"I don't want to be responsible for _you_ getting hurt, or worse," he said. "I wouldn't have agreed to let you go out investigating if I'd thought you would get yourself into any serious trouble."

"I would have tried to find something out even if you hadn't agreed," Mignon said.

Hamilton stared at her. Then, with a resigned sigh and laugh, he set down the knife. "I know," he admitted. "You've always done exactly what you wanted to do."

Mignon smiled a bit. "It drove my late husband almost out of his mind at times."

"I remember," Hamilton said. "He used to complain to me about it and ask me what could be done to stop you."

Mignon was amused. "And what did you tell him?"

"I said that unless he wanted to tie you to a chair in a locked room there was nothing he could do. And that you'd probably get out of there anyway."

"I would have," Mignon agreed.

She regarded Hamilton in thoughtfulness. They had known each other for many years. Hamilton had been there before she had ever married. He had been present at her wedding and throughout her marriage. He had comforted her upon the man's untimely death.

There had never been any uneasy feelings between him and the other men in her life; he and her husband had been on friendly terms as well. And Larry probably could not remember a time when the family had not known him.

". . . Larry always thought very highly of you," she spoke finally. "It meant a great deal to him when you agreed to let him work in your office."

"He's been an asset to my office," Hamilton said. "He's working on this murder case now."

It was then that Hamilton's phone abruptly entered their conversation.

"Excuse me," he apologized. "This might be important."

"Of course," Mignon nodded. She did not mind the interruption; she wanted to see this mystery solved as soon as possible.

Hamilton turned away from the table as he answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Mr. Burger."

Hamilton stiffened at the somber tone. "Tragg? What is it?"

A heavy sigh. "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this, but the squad car escorting the Petersons was run off the road a few minutes ago. Martha and Douglas are fine, but there's a serious problem.

"Howie Peterson is missing."

Hamilton froze in shock. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Was he thrown from the car?"

"It doesn't look like it," Tragg said. "Whoever forced them off the road most likely abducted him."

Hamilton gripped the phone, his knuckles turning white. "Where did this happen?" he demanded. "I'll be out as soon as possible."

Tragg gave him the location. "Martha and Douglas are being taken to Central Receiving Hospital to be looked over, since they were knocked unconscious," he said.

"I'll go there, then," Hamilton decided.

He was sickened as they hung up and he closed his phone. Howie was so young. What did someone want with him, especially if no ransom note had been left? How would he explain this to Mignon? She was worried enough as it was. Of course, he had no intention of keeping the news from her. But it made his heart sink.

"What is it?" Mignon had already tensed. "What's wrong?"

Hamilton looked to her, the regret clear in his eyes. "Mignon . . . there was an accident on the road," he said. "Well, I guess that's the wrong word. The Petersons' car was deliberately run off the road. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson aren't badly hurt, but . . ." He drew a deep breath. "It looks like Howie has been kidnapped."

Mignon paled. "Oh no."

"I have to go talk to Mr. and Mrs. Peterson," Hamilton continued. "Do you want to come?"

"Yes." Mignon set down her napkin. "They must be frantic." She looked to her friend, the worry shining in her eyes. "Hamilton, do you think Howie is alright?"

Hamilton hesitated. He did not want to tell Mignon something grim and horrible, but they had always been frank with each other. She would not want him to sugarcoat anything even if he was tempted to do so.

"I really don't know, Mignon," he said at last. "It depends on who took him and why."

Mignon nodded, sadly.

"Come on," Hamilton said, kind as he reached to take her arm.

Mignon drew strength from him as they headed for the exit. A desperate prayer for Howie's safety began in her mind.

xxxx

The food had arrived and been consumed. Now, as the evening passed into late night, Vivalene pushed empty cartons out of the way and moved closer to Andy on the couch.

"You're right," she said. "This has been far more cozy than a noisy restaurant." She looked up at him. "Tell me about some of your cases. What department are you in?"

"Homicide," Andy said, drawing an arm around her shoulders. This was too perfect an opening. "I've been investigating a particularly gruesome murder today."

"Oh my. Whatever happened?" Vivalene played with Andy's tie. "I thought all murder was particularly gruesome."

"Well . . ." Andy cleared his throat, uncomfortable at the thought of telling her any of the details. But if he were going to fish to find out what she might know, he would have to do it. ". . . This person was found by the side of the highway. He had been brutally and repeatedly attacked with a carving knife."

"Dismemberment?" Vivalene sounded so unconcerned as she asked, that a disturbed chill went up Andy's spine. What manner of woman was this?

Realizing that her conduct had been inappropriate, Vivalene knelt on the couch and looked into Andy's eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said. "Now I've gone and shocked you. I really didn't mean to. Sometimes I'm so removed from the problems of society that I don't think about what I'm saying. It's a defense mechanism, you know?" She leaned in, running her fingers into Andy's blond hair. "You'll forgive me, won't you?"

Andy got his feelings under control. "Everyone has a defense mechanism," he said. "You did take me by surprise. I wouldn't have expected that reaction from a civilian."

"I'm really highly sensitive," Vivalene said seductively. She bent down, kissing Andy on the lips. "I don't like murder and blood and such terrible things."

Somehow Andy made himself return the kiss. He could not lose whatever possible grasp he had on her, not now.

"There, all better." Vivalene snuggled against him. "Do you have any suspects?"

"Not right now," Andy said. "Lieutenant Tragg wondered if my case might connect with something he's been investigating, but I doubt it."

"Oh? What is he investigating?"

"Malicious mischief," Andy said. "Possibly a death threat, in the form of a bloodied voodoo doll sent to the district attorney. The blood used was actual human blood, the same type as Mr. Burger's. The odd coincidence is that the dead man's blood is also that type."

Vivalene was unaffected. "How strange. But there must be countless people with that blood type."

"Yes, that's what I told Tragg," Andy said. "As far as I'm concerned, there is no connection. The cases are completely different. I don't know how the dead man would have had anything to do with the threat against the district attorney."

"Why was he being threatened?" Vivalene stroked Andy's cheek. "Just a random angry citizen feeling mistreated?"

"We don't know that, either," Andy admitted. "It could be because of one of the cases he's currently working on. Of course, the murder is one of them."

"I saw him today," Vivalene remarked lazily. "He was out here, visiting the house next-door."

Andy looked to her, surprised at the declaration. "He's been looking into that, too," he said. "Tragg told me. Mr. Burger is a close friend of the boy's godmother. She's concerned about the strange activity going on over there."

"Oh, I see." Vivalene seemed most uninterested in that subject. "Tell me, how well do you know Lieutenant Tragg?"

Instantly Andy was on guard. "Very well," he said. "When I first transferred here he took me under his wing, so to speak. He's been on the force over twenty-five years. He's taught me many things."

"You're close, then?" Vivalene sounded especially innocent now, which only made Andy more suspicious than ever.

"I'm grateful for what I've learned. But we're also taught not to let our emotions get in the way of our jobs. I wouldn't say I'm particularly close to him." The last part was a blatant lie. To win Vivalene's trust, Andy supposed he had to paint himself as someone who did not hold strong ties to anyone.

"Everyone should be close to someone," Vivalene purred. She kissed him again. "I wouldn't get in the way of your job. How about being close to me?"

Andy drew her to him. "I might be able to manage that," he said.

The doorknob began to turn, bringing them both to attention. Vivalene pulled away, stiffening as she watched it. "What on earth . . ."

The door swung open, revealing a tall, beefy man. As he gripped the knob, an anchor tattoo was visible on his right arm. His eyes widened in utter surprise at the sight of Vivalene on the couch with Andy. Without a word he turned and fled, leaving the door swinging open.

Andy leaped up. "Wait a minute!" he called. Tragg had received a telephone call from Mr. Burger before they had ever left the police station and encountered Vivalene. He had been told about Howie Peterson's description of the prowler and had passed the information on to Andy. Seeing the man barging into Vivalene's house could not be a coincidence. The door had been locked. He had started to enter with a key.

The man was flying over the grass, heading for the Petersons' house. To Andy's shock, when he reached the property he pushed on the side wall and it flipped open, admitting him inside. The panel then slammed shut.

Andy ran up to the wall, pushing on the same part. It obeyed, opening for him as well. He dashed inside, drawing his gun. The corridor was dark and deserted. But from the glimpse he had caught of it before the wall slammed shut, there was only one direction to take.

Taking out his penlight, he beamed the tiny glow down the hall ahead of him as he started after the criminal.

xxxx

Hamilton was furious by the time he and Mignon reached Central Receiving Hospital. "Why don't you find Mrs. Peterson?" he said to her. "I need to talk to Mr. Peterson alone."

Mignon gave him a questioning look. "You don't think he's done anything wrong, do you?"

Hamilton sighed. "Honestly, I don't know," he said. "But he had better be willing to tell me. His son's life could depend on it."

Mignon gave a quiet, concerned nod. She turned, moving quickly towards the room where Martha had been taken. Hamilton glanced after her a moment before turning to go the opposite direction. Soon locating the correct room, he knocked.

"Come in," Douglas called. He sounded forlorn and despondent.

Hamilton pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside. Douglas, sitting on the bed and leaning forward, looked up. His eyes widened in shock to see the district attorney standing over him.

"Well, Mr. Peterson, I see you had a little accident," Hamilton said, crossing his arms. "This wouldn't by any chance have anything to do with the secrets you've been keeping from everyone, would it?"

Douglas nearly jumped off the bed in shock. "I don't know what you're talking about," he retorted. "Mr. Burger, I admitted I knew Vivalene in the past! I even admitted I committed some petty crimes with her!"

"I submit that you only told a half-truth, Mr. Peterson," Hamilton countered. "And I further submit that the ghostly activity going on in your house has to do with that and not with this treasure at all!"

Douglas rose, his eyes flashing now. "It's not your business, even if there's something else," he snapped.

"Mr. Peterson, you'd better start thinking about your priorities." Hamilton's voice had gained an edge. Now he was visibly angry. "Your son is missing. If you know anything that might have something to do with his abduction, you'll tell me now if you don't want me to press charges for child endangerment!"

Douglas went as white as the pillowcase behind him. "No," he gasped. "Mr. Burger, you have to believe me that I had no idea that Howie could get hurt. I never thought she would go this far!"

"Who, Mr. Peterson?" Hamilton snapped. "Vivalene?"

Douglas swallowed hard and finally nodded, slumping back onto the bed.

Hamilton pulled up a chair next to it. "I suggest you start explaining yourself, Mr. Peterson."

Douglas shook his head, looking and feeling helpless. "When Vivalene came back to Los Angeles, she called me at work and said she wanted to meet somewhere out of the way. She said she wanted to know how I was doing and if anyone knew about our past. I told her the truth, that they didn't.

"While we were talking, the piece of the treasure map fell out of my briefcase. Vivalene picked it up to hand it back to me and then realized what it was. She told me that now we each had something the other wanted. She had the bottom half of the map. She'd bought an old jewelry box that came from the estate sale of a previous owner of our house. The bottom half of the map was inside, tucked away in a secret pocket. She brought it out and showed it to me when I didn't believe her."

"Why was she talking to you in the first place?" Hamilton asked. "Did she know you were living in the house now?"

Douglas nodded weakly. "She thought that was a brilliant break. She thought we could work out a deal, since I had the house and she had the solution to my puzzle. But I didn't want to split the treasure with her. I said I'd try to find the treasure without the other half of the map. She told me she didn't give up easily, as I should already know.

"I thought the weird things going on in the house were as far as she would go!" he cried. "I swear it, Mr. Burger. I thought all she wanted was to chase us out so she could go in and find the treasure."

"And instead she's kidnapped Howie," Hamilton said. He shook his head. "Mr. Peterson, that doesn't add up."

Douglas rocked back, staring at him. "What do you mean? Of course it does!"

"She successfully chased you all away," Hamilton said. "Or her henchman did. Once the police left for the night, she could have gone in your house and found the treasure. She didn't have any reason to take your kid. Unless it's a reason we still don't know about."

Douglas shook his head. "I don't believe it," he said.

"Neither do I, Mr. Peterson." Hamilton stood, still angry. "If you really believed Vivalene had your son, when were you planning to tell that to the police? Or were you going to continue cowardly hiding behind your past so your wife wouldn't find out? You would, for all you knew, sacrifice your son to keep your criminal record a secret?"

Douglas opened his mouth, trying to speak, but nothing came out. Disgusted, Hamilton spun around and stormed to the door.

Mignon met him in the hall. "What is it?" she asked in concern. "What happened?"

"Nothing that helps us find Howie," Hamilton said. "But tell me this, Mignon. What do you think of Douglas Peterson?"

Mignon stared at him in surprise. "I always found him to be a good man and a devoted husband and father."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mignon," Hamilton said—and he honestly was. "Right now I doubt any court in the United States would find him to be a fit father."

xxxx

The call from Paul came in just as Perry and Della were leaving the Magic Noir Club, where they had finally secured a late dinner. Perry flipped his phone open to talk on the walk back to the car.

"Hello, Paul," he greeted. "What's happened?"

"Well, I'm back at the office," Paul said. "Pete Kelton just called to tell me something's going on at the Peterson mansion. Some guy ran inside and Andy chased after him. He just heard gunshots."

Perry came to attention. "Have the police been called?" he asked. "Andy might need help." Della looked to him, worry coming into her eyes.

"Yeah, Pete was going to call them," Paul said, "and then go in himself."

"I'll take Della home and then go out myself," Perry determined. "Thanks for letting me know, Paul." He hung up.

"Now just a minute!" Della exclaimed, coming to stand in front of him. "What's this about taking me home first?"

"It's too dangerous, Della," Perry said. "There's been shots fired at the Peterson mansion."

"If you're hoping to help catch whoever fired them, it'll be too late by the time you take me back and get out to the San Fernando Valley," Della protested. "We should both leave now."

"I don't want him to have a chance to fire at you!" Perry retorted. An edge had slipped into his tone.

"And I don't want him to have that chance with _you!_" Della cried. "If anything goes wrong, I want to be there."

For a long moment they stood there on the sidewalk, facing each other, neither wanting to back down. At last Perry surrendered.

"Come on," he said, taking Della's arm. "We'll both go."

Della went with him, only feeling partially triumphant. She had really hoped that Perry would reconsider going altogether. Of course she was worried about Andy, but Pete and the other police could surely help him better—and faster—than Perry could.

Maybe by the time they arrived, everything would be over.

xxxx

Andy had been traversing the secret passage for some time. From the footprints in the dusty floor, it had been used many times recently. And his suspect was still in it now; his footsteps were echoing ahead, above a stone staircase. Suddenly the man pushed open another wall, sending in a stream of light. Andy sped up, following him up the stairs and onto the second floor before the panel could swing shut.

"Hold it!" he commanded. "Police!"

The man froze at the sight of the gun. Andy advanced, keeping an eye on the railing of the second-story balcony just behind him.

"What were you doing entering that woman's house?" he demanded. "Do you still work for her?"

"No," the man snapped in a gruff voice. "I was breaking in. The door was unlocked."

"I happen to know it wasn't," Andy said. "And I didn't see a lock-pick in your hands. Hands on your head!" he ordered. "You're wanted for questioning."

As he approached, the tattooed man sprang forward, grabbing for the gun without warning. Andy snatched at his thick wrist, trying to force him back. Somewhere below him the front door was opening, but there was no time to look. The fight for the weapon had become a mad struggle of flying limbs and desperation to stay alive.

The gun went off like a small explosion. The tattooed man fell back, stunned, his eyes wide and pained. Blood was oozing from a fresh wound in his chest. Andy stared.

"Andy!"

He barely looked over his shoulder at the sound of Tragg's voice. "Call an ambulance!" he exclaimed.

The wounded man's eyes flamed with rage and hatred. He lunged forward, grabbing for Andy to pitch him over the railing. Andy caught hold of his wrists, once again trying to force him back.

The second gunshot came from somewhere on the first floor. Andy stiffened, his balance lost. Frantic, he gripped the tattooed man's shirt. But that could not keep him from falling once his enemy shoved him the rest of the way. Andy could only snatch something that was hanging half-out of his pocket before he fell over the railing and hit the floor far below.

Tragg barely noticed that the suspect had collapsed upstairs. He ran over, crashing to his knees next to the younger policeman. "Andy!" he cried, gripping Andy's shoulder. Blood was pooling under his wounded body. More was gathering on top. The mysterious sniper's bullet had gone in and out.

Andy looked up at Tragg, his eyes glassy and unfocused. "Lieutenant," he rasped. "I . . . I'm sorry. I . . ." But he could never finish what he had started. He fell limp, his eyes sinking shut. Tragg went sheet-white.

"Oh Andy," he gasped. "Andy, no." His hands shaking, he reached to check for a pulse.

"Is he alive?"

Tragg didn't turn at the sound of Lieutenant Drumm's voice. "Yeah, but I don't know for how long," he said. "He's been hit bad. And being pushed can't have helped!"

That was when he saw what Andy had pulled from the tattooed man's pocket.

A photograph of the murder victim from earlier that day.


	10. Cloak

**Notes: And so here we have Lieutenant Drumm, the last of the main policemen throughout the series. While I don't always like season 9, I like Drumm. And Jimmy Anderson and Mrs. Norden, as well as the aforementioned Otto Norden, are all from the season 6 episode **_**The Hateful Hero**_**, which is truly Andy's best canonical moment. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!**

**Chapter Ten**

The lights of both an ambulance and several police cars were flashing when Perry and Della arrived on the Petersons' block. Della stared in horrified alarm. "Oh Perry, something terrible must have happened!" she exclaimed.

Perry's eyes narrowed in his silent agreement. "Wait here and I'll find out," he instructed. He pulled over to the curb, behind Pete Kelton's car. Pete himself was standing beside the vehicle, writing in a small notepad. When Perry got out and shut the car door behind him, Pete looked up.

"What happened here?" Perry frowned.

"Lieutenant Anderson was shot and pushed off the second-story railing in the Petersons' house," Pete said.

"By the man he chased from Vivalene's house?" Perry asked.

"No," Pete said. "Well, that guy pushed him. But he was shot by some unknown person sniping at him from the first floor. I saw the sniper escaping and tried to chase after him, but he slipped away. I swear, that house has more secret tunnels than you can shake a stick at."

Not content to wait in the car, Della hurried out and over to the men. "Is Andy hurt bad?" she demanded.

"Pretty bad," Pete said, looking to her. "Lieutenants Tragg and Drumm are both in there with the paramedics. Tragg said he has to call Andy's cousin and tell him. He's dreading it."

"Jimmy will take it hard," Perry frowned. "And Mrs. Norden will have to be called too."

Pete gave him a blank look. "Who?"

"Erna Norden. She's like a second mother to both Andy and Jimmy." Perry turned to cross the street. "Have you questioned Vivalene yet?"

"I was just going to do that now," Pete said. "First I'd wanted to write down what I remembered about the sniper. Which isn't much, I'm afraid. He was wearing a black hooded cloak and was carrying a sniper rifle."

"You told the police, of course," Perry said as they and Della crossed the street.

"I did. There's a bunch of officers combing the secret passages right now."

Della gripped Perry's arm. "Perry, they're coming out." Her gaze was fixed on the stretcher being pushed by the paramedics. The man lying on it was hauntingly still. Tragg and Drumm followed behind, both somber.

Perry hurried the rest of the way over. He looked at Andy's motionless form, stepping back to allow the paramedics plenty of room to load the stretcher into the ambulance.

"Oh, poor Andy," Della said, sickened at the sight of so much blood. She clutched her purse, her knuckles white under her gloves.

"Hello, Perry, Della."

Perry turned to face the other Lieutenants. Tragg's subdued greeting was a testament to how shaken he was. Drumm glanced to him in concern.

"Hello, Tragg, Steve," Perry said.

More paramedics were coming out of the house now, with a second stretcher. The tattooed man upon it was unfamiliar. Tragg and Drumm moved aside to let them pass. Tragg's eyes darkened as he watched.

"It wasn't bad enough that some coward nailed Andy in the back," he said, his voice thick with bitterness. "This . . . wretch had to push him over the railing when Andy grabbed him trying not to fall."

". . . He looks badly hurt too," Perry observed. "Did Andy shoot him?"

Tragg shook his head. "They were fighting over Andy's gun and it went off. Then when Andy was shot, the bullet went through his body and drilled into this character."

"They don't expect him to live long at the hospital, if he makes it there at all," Drumm said.

"Good riddance, I say," Tragg growled. "Except for the fact that we need information from him. Andy pulled this from his pocket just before he fell." He waved a picture at Perry, who regarded it blankly.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"_That_ is Jason Traills, the murder victim found by the highway today," Tragg said. "Andy was looking for a connection between his case and mine, and well, he found it."

Perry frowned deeply. "Could that man have killed Jason?"

"He's suspected of pulling off several contract killings," Drumm said. "Yes, he could have killed Traills and had the photograph to recognize his target. Or maybe they simply knew each other. Conceivably, they could have even been friends."

"If someone like that even _has_ friends." Tragg watched the doors of the ambulance close.

"Pete Kelton said he's going to talk to Vivalene," Perry said. "Have the police talked to her yet?"

"I'm going to do that right now," Tragg said. "As soon as I contact Mrs. Norden." As the paramedics climbed into the ambulance Tragg spun around in the opposite direction, taking out his cellphone.

Della looked to Perry. "What are we going to do, Perry?"

Perry considered their options. "I'd like to see for myself what Vivalene has to say to this," he said. "Della, why don't you go to the hospital with Andy. When Jimmy and Mrs. Norden arrive, they're going to need some comfort."

Della nodded sadly. "This is going to be especially terrible for Mrs. Norden, since her son Otto was shot and killed several years ago." She drew a shaking breath. "Alright, I'm going. Be careful, Perry."

"I will." Perry waited until she was safely aboard the ambulance and it was driving off, sirens wailing. Only then did he turn, following Tragg to Vivalene's house. Drumm moved to go back to the Petersons', desperate for any clues to the sniper—and to why both he and the tattooed man seemed to know the house layout so well.

xxxx

Vivalene looked as seductive as ever when she opened the door to Tragg and Perry. "Well, my goodness," she said. "Do come inside, both of you. There's already one handsome man here, but I can always do with more."

"Lieutenant Anderson was over here with you until shortly before he was shot," Tragg said, making no attempt to hide his anger. "Don't you have any concern for his welfare at all?"

"Why, of course!" Vivalene said. "I felt horrible when this Mr. Kelton came and told me what had happened. But there's nothing I can do about it."

"You could have gone to the hospital, or at least come outside to see Andy," Perry said, his own voice clipped.

"The entire reason this happened to him is because he was chasing a man who showed up at your doorstep," Tragg said. "Pete Kelton saw the whole thing." Standing nearby, Pete nodded confirmation. "We know that man used to work for you."

"Yes," Vivalene interrupted. "He used to. I fired him, you see." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "He had a thing for me. He'd been stalking me for a while. Tonight he tried to break in and dear Andy went after him." She shuddered. "To think, that now Andy is lying at death's door because of me!"

"There's no evidence of a break-in," Tragg said sternly.

"Don't tell me Mr. Kelton could see that too," Vivalene huffed. "I'm afraid the only one who can back up that part of my story is Andy."

"And he can't." Perry's voice was ice. "Isn't that convenient for you."

Vivalene's lip curled. "I don't appreciate your insinuation, Perry. You never did like me." She sneered at Tragg. "But you did, didn't you, darling. I suppose that's why you're so bitterly against me now."

"It's because I know what you are," Tragg retorted. "And I know you're not really concerned about Andy. You're just crying crocodile tears."

Vivalene's green eyes flashed with fire. "You have no right to accuse me!" she said. "I didn't want to get in the way of police business, so naturally I didn't do anything when Andy went chasing that horrible man. And when I heard the gunshots I was too frightened to do anything! When I finally came back to myself I realized other police were already there, so there was no point in calling more."

"It was just lucky that Steve and I were already en route to the Petersons'," Tragg said. "We had the strange thought that maybe the person who kidnapped Howie Peterson would bring him back to the house, so we were going to look around."

Vivalene was unaffected. "That's ridiculous," she said. "Why would they take him back home?"

"It's the last place anyone would look," Perry noted. "And maybe they took him because they need him for something. Maybe they think he knows where this elusive treasure is."

"Well, bully for them." Vivalene pointed to the door. "I don't think we have anything else to say to each other. Why don't you mosey on back there to play detective some more?"

"One more thing," Tragg said. "Did you happen to see a man in a black cloak run past your house, perhaps in the backyard?"

"I didn't look outside at all," Vivalene sniffed. "I was too afraid I'd be shot at."

Tragg and Perry turned to go. Then, on a whim, Tragg turned back. "Do you own a black cloak?" he demanded.

Vivalene's eyes widened. "Black isn't really my color," she said.

"You don't own one then," Perry said.

"I'm sure I don't, unless it was a gift from someone," Vivalene said. "Don't tell me you have a warrant to search my closets!"

"No, but I might look into that," Tragg retorted.

Perry looked to Pete, who was stunned by the proceedings. "You can't attest to whether Vivalene ever left her house, can you?"

"I'm afraid I can't," Pete admitted. "I ran inside as soon as I heard the shots. But I can't see how Vivalene could have gotten to the Petersons' house so fast."

"Unless she knew of another secret passage, perhaps," Perry said, turning to look back to her.

"Oh, that's preposterous. I know of no such thing." Vivalene crossed her arms. "And do you really think I know how to use a sniper rifle?"

"You learn to use whatever you have to, to get the job done," Perry said.

"I had no motive to shoot Andy," Vivalene said. "I barely knew him! Darling, this entire conversation is crushing me. Please leave."

Knowing there wasn't much else they could do here without a warrant, Tragg grudgingly headed for the door. "You'll have to call the hospital yourself if you want to find out how Andy's doing," he said, glancing back at her. "I won't be volunteering any information."

"You're just jealous that I turned my attention to Andy," Vivalene said. "Why, you're probably not even that concerned about Andy personally."

Now Tragg's eyes flamed. Perry quickly laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go, Tragg," he said. There was no sense playing into Vivalene's hands and losing control.

Tragg turned away, storming onto the porch. Perry and Pete followed, Pete calling goodnight to Vivalene as he pulled the door shut after them.

Tragg walked in silence until they were nearing the edge of Vivalene's property. "I was concerned about Andy going undercover to try to fool that woman," he said, "but it was only because I was afraid of what she would do to him."

"Of course," Perry said with understanding.

Tragg stopped on the sidewalk and looked to him. "I'm very fond of Andy, Perry. He was under my tutelage for some time before the department let him strike out on his own. We still work together on particularly baffling cases.

"I think of Andy as my own son. If he dies, well . . ." He clenched a fist. "I'm not certain I can be responsible for my feelings towards the ones who killed him."

"I think we'll all feel that way," Perry said, his voice dark.

xxxx

Mignon was stunned when Hamilton finished telling her about his conversation with Douglas. She stepped away, searching his eyes as she tried to process the discouraging information.

"I can hardly believe that he would put keeping his past with Vivalene secret above Howie's safety," she said. "He didn't deny your accusations at all, Hamilton?"

"No," Hamilton said. He sighed. "I don't know what to do now. I doubt Martha has any knowledge of any of this. On the other hand, who am I to say? Douglas has been good at lying all this time."

"Howie's safety is more important than a promise to keep this secret," Mignon said. "But Martha is already so hysterical. The doctors have been talking about giving her a sedative. I can't bear to think of upsetting her even more by asking her about this."

"I know," Hamilton nodded. "I don't want to do anything that isn't necessary."

"I doubt Martha would be much help right now, even if she knows something," Mignon said. "Is there anything else you can do for the time being instead of talking with her?"

"Without knowing any other possible suspects in this kidnapping, not much," Hamilton said. He looked back at the door from which he had left in a fury moments earlier. "I'll probably have to go back in there and talk to _him_ again. He was pretty convinced Vivalene was responsible, but maybe I could get him to remember someone else who might have had a motive."

"Mr. Burger!"

Both of them turned in surprise at the frantic voice. Hamilton stared, stunned. Della was hurrying towards him, worry and fear in her eyes.

"Della, what is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

Della stopped, trying to catch her breath. "Hello, Mignon," she greeted the other woman. "Mr. Burger, Andy was brought in and rushed to the Emergency Room!"

"What?" Hamilton cried. "Why?"

Della quickly explained, adding, "They're not even sure he's going to make it through the night. The doctor said it looks like the bullet he took miraculously didn't hurt anything vital, but he's lost so much blood. And he was pushed and struck his head, too."

Hamilton frowned deeply. "What about the man he was fighting with?"

"He's in surgery," Della said. "They don't know if he'll pull through, either. The bullets he took have lodged and caused internal damage."

Hamilton sighed. "He probably wouldn't tell us anything anyway. But we need a chance to at least try. He's important to this case."

"Maybe even to more than one case," Della said. "He was carrying a picture of the man who was murdered today."

Hamilton stiffened in disbelieving shock. Could this case possibly become more twisted?

Mignon stepped forward. "Do you think he knows about Howie?"

"I really couldn't say," said Della, apologetic. "I'm so sorry about what's happened, Mignon. I was shocked when I heard."

Mignon nodded sadly. "We don't have any idea who took Howie, if it wasn't this man in surgery now," she said.

Della laid a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure the police will find Howie," she said.

"Thank you," Mignon said.

"The juvenile division's been called in," Hamilton said. "And every police officer has been told. Howie's description has been put out on an Amber Alert nationwide."

Della nodded. "If you want to talk, Mignon, I think I'll be here for a while." She looked towards the waiting room. "Jimmy Anderson, Andy's cousin, is on his way with Mrs. Norden."

"I'll come sit with you in a few minutes," Mignon said.

Della smiled faintly. "Alright. I'll go and wait for them, then." She looked to Hamilton. "Are you coming?"

Hamilton shook his head. "I have to go back and talk to Douglas Peterson some more," he said, not able to conceal the distaste in his voice.

"And I'm coming with you," Mignon said. "Maybe I can help prompt him to remember something."

Hamilton looked to her. "Maybe you can," he agreed.

He glanced back to Della. "Let me know when there's any news on Andy, please," he requested.

"Of course," Della said. She turned and walked up the way she had come.

Hamilton sighed, watching her go, and then stepped back to the door of Douglas Peterson's room.

"I'm sorry about Lieutenant Anderson," Mignon said to him. "I know he's your friend."

Hamilton nodded. "It's a shock," he admitted. "I hope he'll be okay. I can't even take the time to focus on it right now." He knocked on the door. "Mr. Peterson?" he called. "I need to talk with you again."

There was a long silence. Then, "Come on in."

Hamilton exchanged a look with Mignon before pushing open the door for the second time that hour. He let Mignon enter first before following and shutting the door after them. Douglas, forlorn and disconsolate, was standing at the window, staring into the dark Los Angeles night. Hamilton signaled for Mignon to not announce herself quite yet.

"Mr. Peterson, I'm sure neither of us wants to be here," he said. "But I want to find out what's happened to your son. Can't you think of anyone other than Vivalene who might want to hurt you by taking Howie?"

"No, I can't," said Douglas. "Please, Mr. Burger, can't you just leave me alone?"

"Douglas." The man jerked to attention and spun around at the sound of Mignon's voice. "Is Hamilton right about you?" Mignon advanced, her eyes searching and sad. "Did you put your reputation ahead of Howie's well-being? Was keeping that secret really more important to you than finding Howie?"

Douglas slammed his hand on the windowsill. "Does that even matter?" he cried. "If it doesn't make sense that Vivalene took Howie?"

"Yes, it matters!" Hamilton was angry again. "If you think your son is alive, it matters for his future. It matters that your wife might not want to stay married to someone who wouldn't put his family as top priority in his life!"

Douglas's eyes darkened. "I love my family, Mr. Burger." His shoulders slumped. "I was in denial. I couldn't believe that Vivalene would take Howie, even though I couldn't think of anyone else who would. I kept thinking there had to be another angle. So I hoped I wouldn't have to say anything about Vivalene. I knew if I mentioned her, the whole story would come out."

"If Vivalene was your only suspect, Mr. Peterson, you should have put your fears behind you," Hamilton said. "I wonder how afraid Howie is right now."

"Is what you did in the past really _that_ terrible, Douglas?" Mignon pleaded. "Did you honestly think Martha would leave you because of something that happened ten years ago?"

"Oh, I don't know." Douglas looked up. "I didn't want Howie to grow up knowing his father was a criminal. That was the main thing. And I have no idea who could have taken Howie. I can't help you, Mr. Burger. You'll have to look somewhere else."

"Very well," Hamilton said. "I'll do that." He headed for the door. "Are you coming, Mignon?"

She glanced to him. "You go on, Hamilton. I want to speak with Douglas alone."

"I don't think it'll do any good, but go ahead," Hamilton said. He stepped out of the room and into the vacant corridor, frowning to himself.

This case was growing more complicated with every passing hour, or so it seemed. And now it was connected with the murder case, which only opened more dead ends. His investigators and the police had learned very little about that case all day.

He ran a tired hand over his face. He needed to get away for a while and think. He would check with Della and see if there was any news on Andy. Then he was going to go home and rest. Maybe in a quiet, peaceful atmosphere, something would jump out at him that he had not noticed before.

xxxx

Hamilton was more exhausted than he had thought. He nearly fell asleep at the wheel on the way home, forcing him to pull over and rest by the side of the road until he could rouse up enough to finish the drive home. By the time he pulled into the driveway, it had been nearly an hour since leaving the hospital.

He gazed up at the sky through the windshield. It was a dark night, not overcast, but covered by the new moon. It fit his mood right now.

When he had departed, the doctor had just come to tell them that Andy was worse. And Mrs. Norden, although trying to be strong, had been at the point of tears and hysteria. She did not want to lose her surrogate son as she had her biological son. Jimmy Anderson had been holding her close, trying to comfort both her and himself at the same time. Hamilton had not known what to say except how sorry he was.

He got out of the car, shutting the door behind him. When he came in view of his porch, his jaw dropped.

Leaning against the banister and still waking up from an apparent doze was a seven-year-old kid. His left cheek was red and bleeding, but he seemed not to be bothered. He rubbed the remaining sleep out of his eyes, brightening as soon as he saw the district attorney standing by him.

"Mr. Burger!" he exclaimed. He leaped up and ran down the steps. Before Hamilton quite processed what was happening the boy was tightly hugging him, as though feeling that all problems would now be solved.

"Howie," Hamilton gasped in utter disbelief.


	11. Nurse

**Notes: I think this chapter is one of the saddest things I've written for any series. But it must go in this vein to get the story where I need it to go.**

**Chapter Eleven**

Hamilton was still reeling from the unexpected appearance of Howie Peterson. He laid his hands on the boy's shoulders and eased him back, then bent down to be at his eye level as he searched for injuries. Aside from the red cheek, Howie's clothes were torn and his arms scratched.

"What happened to you, Howie?" Hamilton asked. "How did you get hurt?"

Howie looked down. "That man did it," he whispered.

"The one you saw in the yard?" Hamilton demanded. "The one who threatened you?"

Howie bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, nodding. Fury rose in Hamilton's heart.

"He didn't bring you here, did he?" he queried, although he was certain that would not be the case.

"Oh no, Mr. Burger!" Howie replied instantaneously. "I got here myself."

Hamilton stared at him. "This is a big city," he said. "Even adults wind up getting lost. And you somehow found your way here all on your own?"

Howie hesitated. "Well . . . I got the address out of the phone book," he said. "And then I got into a cab and told the driver to take me here. I know about cabs from TV."

"What did you do for money?" Hamilton was still in disbelief.

Howie looked sheepish. "I paid with the money I got from the other man's wallet," he said.

"What other man?" Hamilton demanded.

Howie shrugged. "There was a second guy. I've never seen him before. I was trying to get away and I grabbed his wallet out of his pocket when I was hitting him."

Hamilton perked up. "Do you have the wallet with you?"

Howie nodded. "I'm sorry, Mr. Burger. Are you gonna put me in jail?" He started to slowly pull the wallet out from his own pocket.

"No," Hamilton said. "No one's going to put you in jail. I just want to see the wallet. There might be some identification that will help put that man in jail."

Howie handed it to him. Before Hamilton opened it, however, he straightened and took out his key. "Thank you. Now, why don't you come inside with me for a few minutes? I'll get you cleaned up and let your parents know you're safe."

Howie brightened, very agreeable to the plan. But as they walked up the steps and onto the porch, his expression turned worried again. "Mr. Burger, are my parents okay?" he asked.

Hamilton froze. In light of what was going on with Douglas, how would he answer? He channeled his attention to the door as he unlocked and opened it. "They're at the hospital," he said carefully. "They were hurt in the car accident, but it's not bad."

He reached for the light, switching it on. But instead of scampering into the room, Howie waited to walk in calmly alongside Hamilton. Whether it was because he had been taught to be polite or because he was simply too worried for boyish exploration, Hamilton was unsure. Once they were inside, Hamilton shut and locked the door after them.

"Why did you come here?" he wondered. "I mean, instead of your home or even Mignon's home."

Howie looked at the floor. "The first man said he'd kill Mom and Dad. Remember? I didn't want to go back home. And Mignon's like a mom too." He looked up again. "But I figured he wouldn't hurt you. And you'd get him caught so he wouldn't hurt anyone!"

"That's certainly what I'd _like_ to do," Hamilton said carefully.

"You'll do it," Howie said with complete confidence. "Mignon says your job is to help the police lock bad guys away."

"Well . . . yes, something like that." Hamilton was about to tell Howie to go into the bathroom and he would be along in a moment to clean up his injuries, when the phone gave a sharp ring. He jumped a mile.

"This might be important," he said. "Just a minute." He crossed the room and reached for the phone. "Hello?"

"Mr. Burger, are you alright?" Della exclaimed. "I've been trying to reach you for twenty minutes!"

Hamilton blinked in surprise. "Oh," he remembered, "I put my phone on Vibrate. I thought I'd feel it, but I guess with everything that's happened, I didn't."

"What happened?" Della asked in concern.

"I'll tell you in a minute. Why have you been trying to get hold of me?"

Della drew a shaking breath. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with regret and sorrow. "Andy just isn't doing well at all," she said. "I called Perry and asked him to tell Lieutenant Tragg. The doctors think it was the double shock of being shot and then pushed almost immediately afterwards. His body wasn't able to take it. Between that and the blood loss, well . . . they say it's amazing he's hung on as long as he has. They don't think he'll make it another hour." Her voice cracked.

Hamilton gripped the phone. ". . . Thank you for calling to tell me," he said. His voice was quiet and pulled taut.

"Will you be coming back?" Della asked.

Hamilton glanced at Howie, who was watching him in bewilderment. "I don't know if I can," he said. "You see, what happened here is that I found Howie on my porch."

"What?" Della cried in astonishment.

"He was kidnapped by two men, one of whom is the man who pushed Andy," Hamilton said. "The other man is still out there somewhere. I have to call the police."

"Is Howie alright?" Della demanded.

"They roughed him up a bit, but it's nothing serious," Hamilton said. "Can you pass along the news to Mignon? Mrs. Peterson is probably still asleep from that sedative."

"Of course," Della said. "I'll tell her right now."

"Alright. Thank you." Hamilton said goodbye and hung up. He turned to Howie, doubtful that he was managing to conceal the pain in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Howie gasped.

"Nevermind," Hamilton said. "It's nothing you need to worry about. Come on, I'll take care of your cuts." He led Howie down the hall and into the bathroom.

The kid perched on the edge of the bathtub as he watched Hamilton wash his hands and get into the medicine cabinet for the first aid kit. He frowned. Hamilton's shaken and subdued manner was not lost on him by any means.

Hamilton bent down in front of Howie, giving him one more quick inspection. He would deal with that cheek first. It looked to be the worst of Howie's injuries.

Howie flinched when Hamilton applied the antiseptic pad to clean the wound. "Ow!"

"I'm sorry," Hamilton apologized. "I'm going as gently as I can."

Howie bit his lip and bore the sting. "Something is wrong," he said. "Why are you so sad?"

Hamilton sighed. Well, maybe it would be better to tell him. Otherwise, he would just worry. And he had enough to worry about already.

"That was a friend of mine on the phone," he said at last. Somewhere in his mind he registered that it was the first time he had referred to Della as his friend. "We've both been worried about another friend of ours. He was hurt tonight, and she was calling to tell me he's a lot worse."

Howie stared at him. "Is he going to die?"

Hamilton paused only briefly at the straightforward question. "It looks like he probably will," he said.

Howie's voice lowered. "Is it because of me?" he asked. "Because he was trying to find me?"

Now Hamilton was the one staring. "No," he gasped. "No, it isn't because of you at all. He was chasing a burglar and someone shot him." He gripped Howie's shoulders. "You understand, don't you? It isn't your fault!"

Howie nodded, averting his gaze again. "It was my fault before," he all but whispered.

Hamilton stopped, alarmed and bewildered. "Howie, what are you talking about?" he said in shock. "You think you were responsible for someone's death?"

"I was." Howie trembled. "When I was a lot smaller, Mom and Dad got this lady to be a nurse or something. She took care of me. She always told me not to leave toys and stuff on the stairs. One time I forgot and she tripped on one and fell down and died."

Hamilton frowned. "You're sure she was dead?"

Howie nodded again. "These people came and put her on a bed thing with wheels and pulled this white sheet up over her head. And Mom and Dad said all the time that it was an accident. But I still killed her. It's still my fault!"

Hamilton was stunned. He had not had any idea. And this was not a situation he knew how to deal with. He had never been faced with something such as this.

"Howie, look at me," he said. The boy raised his agonized eyes to meet Hamilton's. "Your parents were right. It was an accident. You didn't kill your nurse."

"I remember when her sister called Dad," Howie said, his voice dropping further. "I could hear her yelling on the phone. She said I'd killed her twin sister."

Hamilton stiffened. _Twin sister! Was there any possibility that . . ._

"She was just upset and hurting," he said. "She didn't mean what she said."

"She meant it," Howie said. "How would you know she didn't?"

"How would you know she did?" Hamilton returned. "Howie, this might be important. Do you remember anything about either your nurse or that woman on the phone? Their names or what they looked like?"

"The nurse was Flo," Howie said. "She was blonde, I think. It was cut short. And I don't know anything about her sister, except that Dad called her Vifa on the phone."

Hamilton stared. He had only heard the name _Vifa_ a couple of times in the past. Both times it had been given as a nickname for Vivalene.

"You're sure of that, Howie?" he asked.

"Yeah," Howie said. "I remember all about them talking about me."

Without warning the room plunged into darkness. Howie yelped in surprise and fear. Hamilton straightened, looking to the doorway. It wasn't only the bulb; all the lights were off.

"It's just a power outage," he said. "Probably every house on the block is dark." But when he moved the curtain to check, orange and white glows were visible up and down the street.

A floorboard creaked somewhere near them. Hamilton tensed. His was the only darkened house. This was deliberate—someone had been at the fusebox. Now they were on the main floor, wanting the cover of darkness. That could not be good.

"Don't say anything," he hissed to Howie. He pulled the kid into his arms. Somehow they had to get out of the house without being found. There was no telling what would happen to either of them if the intruder caught up.

Howie quaked, clutching at Hamilton's shoulders. He knew they were in danger. And whoever was there was coming closer.

Hamilton slipped out of the bathroom and into the hall. From the light shining through the front window, a dark silhouette was visible in the living room. A gun clicked as the safety was taken off. Hamilton darted through the hall and into the kitchen, aiming for the back door.

"Hamilton, duck! Now!"

The voice in his ear shocked him out of his mind. Without thinking twice he dove to the side. A bullet sailed past from the open living room doorway, drilling into the wall directly across from where he had been standing. Howie could not help it then; he screamed.

Hamilton took a split-second to glance over his shoulder for the source of the voice. But no one was there other than the sniper rapidly approaching the kitchen. Quickly regaining his bearings, Hamilton ran to the back door. "It couldn't be," he whispered, mostly speaking to himself. "That voice . . ."

But there was no time to think about it. He threw open the door, holding on to Howie for dear life as he ran out onto the lawn and to the car. His heart pounding, he unlocked the vehicle and dove inside in one motion, depositing Howie in the passenger seat before starting the engine and flying out of the driveway. His mind was filled with one thing.

If the cases were connected, it could very well be that the person who had shot Andy was inside his house, either trying to kill him or get Howie.

Or both.

xxxx

Lieutenant Tragg's emotions were on a roller coaster. But instead of going up and down, they were just plunging further and further south. Deciding that there were enough police at the Petersons' for the time being, he returned to the station and ordered a search warrant for Vivalene's house. While it was being secured he drove to Central Receiving Hospital.

What had he been expecting to find? He was not even sure now. But some part of him, perhaps the loudest and most in denial part, had determined that Andy would not be hurt as badly as they had all thought. That part had determined that he would find Andy unconscious, perhaps, but out of danger.

Even though he worked around death every day he had not let himself seriously consider that he would be met by the grave-faced physician, instructing him to say his final goodbyes while he still could. He had refused to think about standing over the weakened body of his long-time colleague and friend, only able to helplessly observe the growing pallor of death and the slowing pulse. He had never allowed himself to picture the horrible, steady note of the machine as Andy's heart stopped.

But the doctor had given him those most dreaded of instructions. "His cousin and Mrs. Norden are already with him," he said. "It won't be long now. I'm so sorry, Lieutenant."

Tragg had only managed a dazed, uncomprehending nod before wandering towards the hall to find the correct room. Mignon, remaining in the waiting room and not feeling that she should intrude into the close loved ones' goodbye, called after him. He did not hear.

Mrs. Norden did not look up when Tragg pushed open the door moments later. Instead she remained standing at the bedside, cradling Andy's lifeless hand in hers as she spoke softly to him. In her anguish, she alternated between English and German.

"He is going, Lieutenant," she said at last. Her voice broke. "I don't know what is worse—to be told that my son Otto was shot and already killed, with nothing that could be done for him, or to sit here and watch my son Andy slipping away from us, also with nothing that can be done."

Tragg approached the bed with a heavy heart. He had seen death too many times to not recognize its onset while looking right at it. And yet he still prayed, he still hoped, desperately and in vain.

"Andy, can you hear us?" he asked, although he did not really expect any sort of reaction. He did not get one. "Andy, don't do this," he pleaded. "Don't let this beat you. Stay here, Andy. We need you.

"The police department needs you. You're one of the best detectives in the homicide division."

His voice lowered in agony as he threw away all attempts to rationalize and hide behind other reasons. "Oh, what's the use. Andy, _I_ need you. You're both my son and my friend. I can't imagine the station without you."

A brief image flashed through his mind. He saw himself walking past Andy's office, seeing the lettering being removed to make way for Andy's replacement. He gripped the metal railing, not wanting to think of it any longer.

There was still not the faintest hint of response. Tragg bowed his head.

Jimmy was angry, pacing the room one moment and furiously stopping to wipe a tear the next. "I'm going to get the guy who did this," he vowed. "The one that shot him from the first floor. I don't care how long it takes. I'm going to find him and then I'm going to give it to him!"

"Oh Jimmy, don't do anything foolish!" Mrs. Norden begged. "I can't lose you too. And Andy would never want you to take revenge, even for this!"

Tragg could not even bring himself to join the conversation. At the moment, if Jimmy found the sniper and started "giving it to him", Tragg could not help but think that he would be rooting for Jimmy and not pulling him away.

And yet he knew deep down that if he saw such a spectacle, if he even joined in himself or caused it to begin with, he would have to have the willpower to stop it. Mrs. Norden was right—Andy would never want it. He would want his killer caught, not taken revenge on. And he would never want another police officer to lose their badge because of him.

The heart monitor flatlined. Tragg jerked up with a start. He could only stare, blank, unable to process it. This was a nightmare. A cruel, cold, unending nightmare. One from which he could not wake up. It was the same way he had felt when his wife had died.

Mrs. Norden wailed in grief. Jimmy slammed his fist into the wall and then slumped in front of it, shaking as he gazed down at the body.

"Andy," he whispered. "My cousin. The one who looked after me and made me want to be a cop. Now, just like this, he's gone." He looked up, clenching a fist. "We're taught to be prepared for some officers not making it. We know every day that it's a part of the job. But how can we really be prepared for it?" He whirled to look at Tragg for answers. "How?"

Tragg could not give him an explanation. He sank into a chair and covered his eyes with a trembling hand, not even trying to hide that he was crying.

xxxx

The last thing Hamilton intended to do was to get into a wild car chase while he had a young boy in the car with him. To that end he steered in and out of side streets before the mysterious sniper could even begin to catch up. Sitting next to him, Howie was sheet-white and terrified. He gripped the plush seat, looking in all directions for a car in pursuit.

It was then that Hamilton's phone rang, piercing the silence in the vehicle. Hamilton spun around another corner and pulled over before taking out his phone and flipping it open. "Hello?"

"I'm calling from the hospital," came Paul's serious voice. "Andy just died."

_Oh God, no._ ". . . What about the man who pushed him?" Hamilton finally managed to get out.

"He's going too. But he's conscious and Tragg's insisting on talking to him and trying to find out what he knows."

Hamilton frowned. "Are they going to let him?" He could imagine how heartbroken Tragg was now. The thought of him interrogating one of Andy's murderers made him cringe. It would not go well.

"I don't know," Paul admitted.

". . . Della's still here. She said you found Howie." He was clearly uncomfortable. Albeit he of course wanted to know the story, right now he was asking more out of a desire to change the subject than anything else.

"Yes, and someone broke into my house and shot at us," Hamilton said. "We're getting away now."

"What?" Paul burst out in genuine shock.

"Tell the police and have them go out to my place," Hamilton requested. "I can't call right now."

"Will do," Paul said. "And . . . be careful. We don't need any more deaths tonight."

Hamilton was honestly not sure if Paul was saying that due to genuine concern for him or more because of Howie. Not to mention that he might be thinking it would just be too nerve-racking to have someone else die that he knew. But Hamilton expressed his complete agreement with Paul's sentiment.

"Oh," he remembered. "Please see if you can do some checking on a nurse who worked for the Petersons. Her name was Flo." He hesitated. "And I think Vivalene is her twin sister."

"She really does have a twin sister?" Paul yelped.

"Had. Flo's . . ." Hamilton hesitated, glancing at Howie. "Flo's deceased."

". . . I see. Okay. When this plot thickens, it really thickens," Paul remarked.

Both men hung up in a bit of a daze. Howie was watching Hamilton when he slipped the phone into his pocket. "It was more bad news, wasn't it?" he said.

Hamilton pulled away from the curb and drove on. "It's my friend," he said. "He died."

Howie bit his lip. "I'm really sorry."

"Thank you. But like I said, it wasn't your fault at all," Hamilton said.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly. Now the voice he had heard back in his house, warning him out of the way of a probably fatal bullet, unsettled him even more.

It had been Andy's voice.


	12. Crossing

**Chapter Twelve**

The last few minutes had been agony. Tragg had finally pulled himself together enough to get up and summon the doctor. The physician and his aides had worked on Andy's body for a while, trying to restart his heart, but to no avail. By now they had left in defeat. Tragg, Jimmy, and Mrs. Norden were having a last moment with Andy before the staff wheeled him away.

What they did not realize was that Andy was standing over them, shaken and stunned by both the scene and his observance of it.

"Jimmy," he gasped in horror. "Lieutenant—Arthur. . . . Mama Norden. . . . Please, I'm here!" He reached for each person in turn, but to no avail. His hands passed through them without them so much as shuddering. They could not see, hear, or sense him. He slumped back, helpless.

"What can I do?" he whispered. "I'm dead."

"Hi."

Andy jumped a mile. The voice was familiar, yet it could not be. Or could it, this time? He whirled. A friendly man in full police uniform was standing next to him. Andy took a step closer, daring to hope. "Otto?"

The other policeman smiled. "Yeah. It's good to see you again, Andy." He clapped a hand on Andy's shoulder. "I'm just sorry it has to be under these circumstances."

Andy forlornly nodded. "Otto, I've missed you," he said. He wanted to embrace his old friend, but something held him back and kept him on-guard. "This isn't all a product of my mind, is it? I ran into Paul Drake's operative Pete Kelton tonight and . . ."

"What is this? You're mistaking me for a figment of your imagination? You've been hanging around that district attorney too long." Otto peered at him. "You saved his life a few minutes ago."

"I'm glad," Andy said. "And I'm glad to see you again, Otto. I didn't think I would for years. . . ." He trailed off, pulling Otto into a hug that was swiftly and powerfully returned.

"Hey, same here," Otto said, his voice thickening. "Well, I've seen you a lot since I crossed over, but you couldn't see or hear me."

Andy blinked. "Really? You've been around?" He rocked back, searching Otto's eyes.

"Of course I have. You didn't think I'd up and abandon everyone, did you?"

"No, of course not. I don't want to, either."

As they drew back Andy turned, gazing helplessly at the others.

Lieutenant Tragg got up, his voice pinched. "I'm going to see that murderer now," he said. "Maybe he'll tell me who his accomplice is."

"I'm coming with you," Jimmy said in determination.

Mama Norden watched them. "I suppose this is official police business and I cannot come," she said. "I would like to see that man frightened after what he did. I would like that very much."

"It's official police business," Tragg agreed. He paused. "But come on anyway. You deserve to be there."

Andy shook his head. "This feels horrible. Is this what it was like for you, when you . . ."

Otto nodded. "Almost exactly. And it hasn't changed much."

"We're entirely helpless then," Andy lamented.

"Well, not entirely," Otto said. "You got Hamilton Burger to hear you."

"Yes, but I imagine that's because it was an emergency," Andy said. "I don't even know how I managed to make myself heard."

Otto smiled a bit. "One thing I've been learning is that there's countless miracles going on every day." He looked towards the trio departing the room. "Come on," he said. "Let's go with them."

Andy was already inching after them. At Otto's words he walked faster, following them through the doorway and into the hall. But then he paused, looking back into the room. Seeing himself lying in the bed was beyond eerie. And even though he wanted to pursue Tragg and the others, the thought of abandoning his body made him uneasy, as if he were irreparably cutting ties with it.

Still, hadn't he already done that by dying? There was nothing he could do to change that.

"It's alright," Otto said, seeming to sense the reason for his distress.

Andy looked to him, searching his eyes for answers. Still confused, he finally nodded and started down the corridor. Perhaps he did not ask because he wanted to make sure that he caught up with them before they entered the room.

Or perhaps because he dreaded the answer.

xxxx

When Tragg opened the door, the tattooed man weakly turned to look. His face was twisted in pain, but Tragg could feel no pity.

"The policeman you pushed has passed away," he said, his voice filled with anger. "If you could recover, the district attorney would charge you with murder in the first degree. You would get the death penalty.

"As it is, you're going to die a lot sooner. I'd say it's better than what you deserve, except that you'll be brought before a tougher Judge than any of us could set you up with. And that sounds pretty good to me."

The patient glowered. "What do you want from me, cop? Just . . ." A painful cough racked his body. He turned away as blood came to his lips. "Just a chance to gloat?"

Tragg came to the bedside. "The name of the person who shot Lieutenant Anderson."

The tattooed man sneered. "You've gotta be kidding."

"You should want to get back at him," Jimmy snapped. "The bullet that killed Lieutenant Anderson is killing you too."

Mama Norden stepped forward. "My Andy did nothing to you. Please help us bring his other killer to justice!"

"You're breaking my heart." The tattooed man glared at the lot of them. "Maybe I would like to get back at him. But I don't want to do it by helping you."

Andy frowned and tensed. Tragg's eyes flashed. For a moment he looked as though he would not be able to restrain himself. Andy took a step forward, reaching for his grief-stricken friend. "Arthur, no," he pleaded. "Don't do it." Otto came up beside him.

At last Tragg drew a shaking breath and moved back. "You won't change your mind."

"No," snarled the wounded man.

"Then we're going to leave you to die alone," Tragg growled. He turned to go back to the door.

Andy hurried out of his way. He did not want to discover what would happen if Tragg plowed through him. He was already shaken enough by this experience.

Jimmy trudged after him. Mama Norden lingered, studying the wretched man with an unreadable expression.

"You are filled with hate," she said. "Right now, _I_ am filled with hate too. You and that other person killed my son. I already lost my first son to someone like you.

"How can you live with yourself?" She wrung her hands. "I can't stand these feelings. My sons wouldn't want me to feel this way, about you or anyone else."

Otto laid a transparent hand on her shoulder.

The tattooed man glared at her, unaffected. "I don't care how they'd want you to feel," he said. "I'm not gonna help the cops."

"So you're going to die known only as the murderer of a policeman," Mama Norden said. "You won't do anything to redeem yourself."

His eyes narrowed further.

Something about his manner made Andy perk up. Could he be weakening?

Finally he ran his tongue over his lips. Sullen, he motioned for the woman to bend down. She did so, and he muttered something in her ear. She froze.

Otto looked to Andy. "Did you hear that?"

Andy nodded. "I wouldn't have thought . . ." Suddenly his eyes widened in alarm. "If there's still people at the Petersons', they're all in danger!"

"Mama will let Lieutenant Tragg know," Otto assured him.

Mama Norden was straightening, her own eyes filled with worry as well as gratitude. "Thank you," she said. "I will tell Lieutenant Tragg that you told the truth at last." She turned, hurrying from the room to find Tragg.

Andy glanced back at the tattooed man, who was slumping back into his pillow. He was not long for this world. And as he inclined his head to the side, he suddenly let out a horrified gasp.

"You!" he cried, pointing a shaking finger directly at Andy. "You're here to haunt me for . . . for what I did."

Andy narrowed his eyes. "I'm here because I'm concerned about the people I love," he said. "When you pushed me, it wasn't just me you hurt. It was Jimmy and Lieutenant Tragg and Mama Norden, and so many others.

"I don't have time for something as petty as haunting you. I have to make sure that they're going to be alright." He spun on his heel and headed for the door, Otto right beside him.

When they were safely in the hall, Andy looked to Otto in confusion and not a little repulsion. "Why could he see me?" he exclaimed. "Why my murderer, when no one else?"

"Probably because he's near-death," Otto mused. "Or who knows—maybe he's actually feeling guilt." He prodded Andy forward. "It's not important."

Andy nodded in agreement. It wasn't. Saving his friends, on the other hand, was.

xxxx

Della gripped her arms tightly as she stood by Paul in the waiting room. "This is horrible," she said in quiet grief. "I still can't believe Andy is really gone."

"Me either," Paul said, equally grim. "How did Perry take it?"

"He was very somber when I told him," Della said. "I know he feels as badly as we do."

Paul sighed. "Well, I'm sorry I have to leave at this point," he said. "Burger wants me to do some checking into a new, weird development."

Della dropped her arms to her sides. "I need to leave too," she said. "I'm going with Mignon to the police station where Hamilton took Howie."

"That sounds a lot more pleasant than what I might go up against," Paul said. "I'll see you later."

"Oh, Paul." Della suddenly snatched Paul's trenchcoat-clad arm. "Be careful, _please._ With Andy dead, I'm afraid to know what might happen next."

Paul nodded. "I'll do the best I can," he said. Considering the night's tragedy, he did not feel that he could say that he would be able to come out unscathed.

Della watched him depart, a lump coming into her throat. After seeing that Howie was safe, Della was going out to the Petersons' house. Perry was still there with Lieutenant Drumm. She had not mentioned her plan to Paul, as she knew he would try—probably rightly—to discourage her.

But she wanted, she _needed,_ to be there.

She was _not_ going to see the same thing happen to Perry that had happened to Andy.

Turning away, she went to find Mignon.

xxxx

Hamilton had planned to leave Howie at the police station and then leave for the Peterson mansion. More and more, it seemed that all roads pointed back to it—and to Vivalene's house next-door.

He had wanted Douglas Peterson to be questioned about what Howie had told him. But Paul had delivered one more piece of bad news: Douglas had escaped. There was no telling what he was up to or where he had gone. They had a pretty good idea, however. One more path very likely led to Vivalene's door.

Howie, however, did not want Hamilton to go and leave him with a sea of strangers. And after the shooting he was terrified for his new friend's safety.

"Maybe you should wait just a few minutes, Mr. Burger," Officer Reed suggested. "You did say that Howie's godmother is on her way, didn't you?"

"Yes," Hamilton nodded. "She called to tell me she was coming after Miss Street gave her the message that Howie has been found."

"Then I think it should be okay if you wait at least until then. And it would probably be better for Howie in the long run."

Hamilton sighed. "He still won't want me to go," he said.

"Maybe his godmother can help convince him that you need to," Reed said.

So Hamilton at last consented. There was not long to wait; within fifteen minutes Mignon arrived in a cab. But she was not alone.

"Della?" Hamilton said in amazement when the two women entered. "I wasn't expecting to see you too."

"I wanted to check on Howie," Della said.

She smiled at the boy, who had got up when Hamilton did to see who had come in. "Hello, Howie," she said, bending down to be at his eye-level. "Mr. Burger said something scary happened to you."

Howie nodded. "A mean person shot at us," he said, shy around the newcomer. Seeing Mignon, he hurried over and hugged her around the waist. She pulled him close.

"Hamilton, it's a miracle you're both safe," she said, looking to her friend.

"I can't deny that," Hamilton admitted. Sometime in the future, when they were alone, he would probably tell her about hearing Andy's warning. She, of course, would believe him. But this was not the place to discuss it.

He walked over, laying a hand on Howie's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I have to go now," he said.

"No!" Howie cried, jerking up. "You can't! You said your friend died. What if something happens to you?"

Hamilton inhaled deeply, exchanging a look with Mignon. "I'll be as careful as I can," he said. "But to catch the people doing bad things, brave men and women often have to put themselves in danger. There's no other way."

Howie blinked back tears. "There should be," he said. "And I shouldn't have gone to you for help. I didn't know someone would find us!"

"You did the right thing by coming to me," Hamilton said. "Now I have to do my job."

"That's right, Howie," Mignon said quietly. "He needs to leave." Hamilton knew her well enough to recognize the worried tremor in her voice, but Howie was still too young to catch that.

At last the boy nodded. "Okay. Will you promise to come back?" He looked to Hamilton with pleading eyes.

Hamilton's heart twisted. "I can't make a promise like that," he said. "It wouldn't be fair to you. But I can promise to do everything I can to make it back." He really didn't think that what he was going to do would be dangerous. But he did not want to say that either, not after what had happened at his house. The police had reported that the sniper was long gone by the time they arrived. He could be anywhere by now.

Howie bit his lip and looked at the floor. "I guess that'll have to do," he mumbled.

"Yes," Mignon said. She raised her eyes to meet Hamilton's. "Do what you must."

Hamilton nodded. "I'll call you," he said, turning to head for the door.

"I have to leave too," Della said. "Will you be alright here, Mignon?"

"We'll be fine," Mignon said. "The police are likely going to escort us somewhere else. This time, I imagine they'll have more officers present."

"That's good," Della said. "I'll see both of you later then."

Howie blinked up at her. "Are you going to go with Mr. Burger?" he wanted to know.

Della's mouth opened in her surprise. "Why, I don't think so," she said. She had requested the cab to wait for her.

"If you're going where he is going, Miss Street, then perhaps it would be better if you went together," Mignon said.

Della could not deny that. "He won't like it," he said.

Mignon smiled a bit. "He's concerned for your safety," she said, "as you are concerned for Mr. Mason's. But he already knows you're stubborn." She nodded towards the door. "Catch up with him."

Della did not have long to make up her mind. She considered the situation quickly and nodded. "Thank you, Mignon. Goodbye. Goodbye, Howie!" She hastened past them.

Howie silently waved after her.

"God be with you both," Mignon added under her breath.

Hamilton looked up with a start when Della breezed out the door and started in his direction. "Mr. Burger!" she called, hoping to get his attention.

In that she succeeded. "Oh no," he groaned. Somehow he was sure he knew what she wanted.

"Mr. Burger, I need to get back to the Peterson mansion," Della said as she reached him. "I was going to take that cab, but maybe it would be better if we travel together."

Hamilton regarded her in exasperation. "What makes you think I'm even going there?" he said. "Maybe I'm going back to my house."

"Then I won't bother you," Della said, starting to turn towards the cab. "But Perry said he thinks the answers have to be in that mansion."

"You're going no matter what I say, aren't you?" Hamilton said in resignation.

Della nodded. "I'm afraid so."

After their team-up in the past, when Perry had been abducted by a madman, he knew she meant it. With a sigh he pulled open his car door. "Go ahead and tell the cab driver to leave," he said. "I suppose there's no real sense in your paying him to take you where we're both going."

Della smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Burger."

xxxx

Perry frowned, resting a hand on the third-floor wall of the Petersons' mansion. "I don't know, Steve," he said. "I believe this house is the key. Yet we haven't been able to find anything that really helps."

Drumm nodded, looking tired and worn-out under the old lights. "And we haven't been able to connect Vivalene with the shooting," he said. "Lieutenant Tragg got the search warrant for her house. He's coming out to serve it."

"And that story you said Howie told Hamilton." Perry shook his head. "It's too strange. Something doesn't add up somewhere."

"I know," Drumm sighed. "And we were hoping that Douglas was coming here. So far he hasn't shown."

"I wonder," Perry mused. Taking out his phone, he dialed Paul's number.

Paul answered after several rings. "Perry, I was just about to call Burger," he greeted.

"Did you find something out?" Perry asked.

"Did I! With that story of Howie's I think we finally got a break. I tracked down that nurse he was talking about." A pause. "You know about that, right?"

"Yes, Paul. It's alright." Now Perry barreled on. "Is she alive after all?"

A frustrated sigh. "Why do you always know these things before I tell you?"

Perry smiled. "I'm just guessing, Paul. And I don't know anything else to guess on. What else have you found out?"

"She really might be Vivalene's sister," Paul said. "I don't know about that yet. But what I do know is that she's here in town, at a high-rise hotel. And she just got into a car with Douglas Peterson!"

Perry gripped the phone tighter. "Are you following them?"

"Yeah. And I've got to go. I can't lose them."

"Right, Paul. Stay with them," Perry said. He hung up.

Drumm was staring at him. "Did the missing pieces fall together?"

"No," Perry said, "but I believe we've found more of them."


	13. Chute

**Chapter Thirteen**

Andy was worried. Tragg had already departed the hospital by the time Mama Norden left the tattooed man's room. Jimmy was still there, however, and once Mama Norden told him of the killer's admission of his accomplice's identity, he called the station and got the word out. Andy hoped it would be in time.

"I have to go too, Mama Norden," Jimmy said, apologetic but determined. "I need to be there when Lieutenant Tragg arrests Andy's other killer."

"Of course you do," Mama Norden said. "You run along now. Hurry!"

Jimmy hesitated. "Will you be okay here?"

"_Ja, ja."_ Mama Norden pulled Jimmy close. "You are the one going into danger. Please be careful, Jimmy. Don't leave me without anyone to call my son."

"I'll be back," Jimmy promised. He hugged her and then hastened down the hall.

Andy glanced to Mama Norden. He was feeling somewhat torn. But it was Jimmy and Tragg who most needed help now—not that he would be able to give them any.

"I have to go with him," he said to Otto.

"We'll both go," Otto said. "I'm sorry I didn't really get a chance to serve as his partner. I've been watching him too, and he's become a good cop. A little impulsive, but we all started like that."

Andy nodded. "I'm sorry too. He would have liked you, had he gotten to know you."

He glanced back the way they had come, unable to keep from feeling more uneasy the farther they traveled. "Otto?" he ventured at last.

Otto cast a brief look his way. "Yeah?"

"Is it . . . alright to leave here?" Andy queried, feeling awkward. "I mean, my body's here and . . ."

"You left before," Otto said.

"I don't even remember leaving," Andy said. "Suddenly I was just in Mr. Burger's house, watching that sniper try to shoot him down."

"Well . . . the truth is, you were so sick you left your body a time or two before you were actually, clinically dead," Otto said. "You had a near-death experience."

"I see." Andy stopped at the front doors, watching Jimmy pass through as they opened for him. "But I am clinically dead now. And even though I want to go with Jimmy, I . . . I'm reluctant to leave."

"It's alright," Otto said. "I promise."

Andy searched his eyes. Finding the same steady firmness as in his words, Andy nodded at last. Fighting back his continuing concerns, he walked through the closed doors and into the autumn night. Otto remained at his side.

xxxx

Paul frowned deeper as Flo drove her powder-blue convertible towards the San Fernando Valley. Douglas, in the passenger seat beside her, seemed nervous and edgy. By comparison, Flo was raring to go. Her short, wavy blonde hair blew in the open breeze. She laughed at something or other that was being discussed, pushing up her designer sunglasses with one hand.

Paul kept far enough back that he hoped he had not been spotted. As the two vehicles continued on the highway he reflected on what he had learned in his investigation.

Flo, from all that he had pieced together, seemed to work for a shadowy and unfriendly organization. She often went undercover on her assignments, posing as nurses, private detectives, and anything else she had to. Now that Paul saw her, it almost seemed that if her hair were longer she would resemble a private detective he had briefly clashed with on a past case. If she were Vivalene's identical twin sister, she must have been wearing make-up to disguise herself, as he definitely would have noticed had she resembled Vivalene in any way. And tonight, with those sunglasses covering half her face, he still could not tell.

"Where are you two going?" he muttered to himself. "Vivalene's place?"

He was clueless on why she had apparently faked her death at the Peterson home. Nor did he know if Vivalene was in on it. In all honesty he had to admit that he felt she was, and that if Flo had really been dead Vivalene would not be as upset as she had seemingly come across as being. But maybe he was just biased against her. Surely even Vivalene had to care about someone.

When they reached the Valley, his eyes widened in surprise as Flo turned onto the block directly behind the Petersons'. Through the backyard of the house she pulled up in front of, the Petersons' maple trees were visible.

Flo parked in the driveway and shut off the engine. With a familiar sashay she exited the car and strolled up to the house. After casting a nervous glance left and right, Douglas followed.

Paul frowned as he watched, unseen, from the shadows. They were entering the house. Douglas was making sure the door was shutting and latching behind them. After fifteen minutes they showed no sign of coming out.

Paul reached for his phone and dialed. Burger had sent him on the detail to find the nurse. And he had been appalled and stunned when Paul had informed him that Douglas Peterson was riding with her. He had requested that Paul keep him informed.

The phone only rang twice before it was picked up. "Hello?"

"Flo and Douglas just pulled in," Paul said. "And get this—they're in the house behind the Petersons'."

There was a brief moment of stunned silence. "How long have they been in there?" Burger asked.

"About fifteen, twenty minutes," Paul said.

"Can you see them at all?"

"Nope." Paul leaned back, keeping his eyes on the house. "What do you want me to do?"

"Can you go up to the windows without being seen?"

"Well . . ." Paul studied the house. "Just because I don't see them at the windows doesn't mean they won't see me. But I'll give it a try."

"Alright. But be careful."

Paul hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket. As he got out of his car and moved towards the house he kept himself low.

He tried the back door's window first, inching himself up until he could just see over the bottom edge of the door. But all he could really make out was a bottle of wine on the checkered tablecloth.

A rectangular glow suddenly went on in the backyard. Paul perked up. A light must have been turned on in a room facing that direction. Sticking to the shadows, he moved around the side of the house and to the back.

He had only barely succeeded in approaching the window when the ground opened up underneath him. Unable to suppress a yelp of shock, he plummeted.

xxxx

Moments earlier, Hamilton had driven up to the Petersons' mansion on the other side of the block. Fidgety and anxious, Della leaned forward to peer through the windshield.

"There's Perry, standing in the front window with Lieutenant Drumm," she said in relief. Quickly she undid her safety belt and exited the car, hastening towards the property.

"Wait a minute!" Hamilton exclaimed. Within seconds he was also out of the vehicle and chasing after her. But with her headstart he only caught up as she reached the porch and knocked swiftly and firmly.

"Della, you shouldn't have done that," he said. "You don't know who or what might be lurking around here." He glanced next-door. Vivalene's house was in darkness. She was either out or in bed. Or she wanted it to look like she was one or the other.

Della stepped back. "I'm sorry, Mr. Burger," she apologized. "I was so glad to see Perry safe that I wasn't thinking." She looked down at her purse. "There's been so much bad news tonight. . . ."

". . . Yes," Hamilton said quietly. "We can all do with some good news."

The door opened. "Della?" Perry said in disbelief. "Hamilton?"

"We were both coming this way," Della said, managing a genuine smile.

Perry moved aside. "Come in, both of you," he said, giving Della a bit of a stern look. Not really acknowledging it, Della stepped into the entryway.

Instead of following, Hamilton looked around at the walls and the porch's roof. "Have the police finished looking over the outside walls for secret passageways?" he wondered.

"As far as I know," Perry said. "I've seen a couple of uniformed policemen, but mostly it's just been Lieutenant Drumm and myself, checking from the inside."

Hamilton walked to the right side of the porch and peered around the edge. "Did they ever figure out how that sniper got out of the house?"

"I'm afraid not," Perry said, greatly sobering at the mention of the sniper.

"I'll come in a few minutes," Hamilton said, occupied with his thoughts. "I want to inspect the outside of the house myself."

"There's a police guard in the yard," Perry said. "You'd better have him escort you, Hamilton."

"I will," Hamilton assured him. "I'm not going to do anything unnecessarily dangerous."

"Which means you're going to do something necessarily dangerous," Perry summed up.

Hamilton chuckled. "If you want to put it that way."

"It's nothing to joke about," Della scolded. She came back to the doorway, pulling her coat closer around her in the autumn chill.

Hamilton sighed. "You're right, it isn't." He glanced back. "Where is the guard?"

Perry frowned. "You should have seen him." He walked out on the porch. "He was standing at the other side of the house."

Della hurried out after him, followed by Lieutenant Drumm. "We didn't see anyone," she said.

Hamilton reached the left side of the house first. He nearly tripped over a form lying prone in the grass and fallen maple leaves. "He's here!" he called, bending to check for life.

The man groaned almost as soon as Hamilton started to search for a pulse. "Oww. What hit me?"

"We're not sure," Hamilton said. The others were gathering around by now. "Are you alright?"

"It's just a bump . . . ow." The guard rolled onto his side, squinting up at Hamilton and the others. "Lieutenant, Sir." He focused on Drumm. "I'm sorry this happened. I was just minding my business and something clubbed me. That's all I know. I'm not even sure when it happened. It feels like it was just a couple of minutes ago, but it could have been a lot longer."

Drumm reached to help him up. "Don't worry about it, Officer. Just go back to your car and rest. I'll get someone here to relieve you."

"Thank you, Sir," the dazed man mumbled.

Della looked worriedly to Perry. "Why would someone hit the guard?" she wondered. "Have they broken into the house?"

"It's possible, Della," Perry said, looking up at the towering mansion.

At that moment a car pulled up to the curb. Perry and Della turned their attention towards it. A familiar figure got out on the driver's side.

"That's Lieutenant Tragg," Perry said. "Come on; we should tell him what happened." Taking Della's arm, he began to lead her over the hill in the front yard.

Della watched the veteran policeman in concern. "He's still so angry about what happened to Andy," she said quietly.

Hamilton stared at his old friend. From his determined steps and his dark scowl, he was indeed angry. Hamilton regretted that he had not been able to be at the hospital. Although of course he was grateful that he had been at his house; if Howie had remained there alone, the sniper would have found him. It could not have been any other way.

He was just starting after Perry and Della when a strange sound stopped him in his tracks. He whirled back, bewildered. "That sounded like Paul," he said aloud, but mostly to himself. Casting another glance at the small gathering on the lawn, he turned and hastened for the back of the Petersons' property. No one else seemed to have heard the noise. And maybe he should not call out and alert them. Paul could have run into trouble while investigating the house on the other side of the block. If so, sudden exclamations might put him into more danger than ever.

Both backyards were empty when Hamilton approached. He reached the gate and gripped it as he leaned over, scanning the other property for any sign of the private detective. "Paul?" he called at last. There was no response. And it looked like something was lying in the light under a window.

Staying on guard for anyone who would be unappreciative of his intrusion, he slowly and cautiously climbed over the gate. Keeping to the shadows, he made his way to the window. The object lying under it was a flashlight. Regardless of whether it belonged to Paul or not, that was an odd place for it.

Hamilton reached to pull it closer, pausing as something else caught his eye. Wasn't the grass strangely out of place? It almost looked like a particular square was askew. He tugged on it. It fell inward, revealing a secret chute.

Quickly Hamilton switched on the flashlight and beamed it into the hole. "Paul, are you down there?" he demanded. It was a difficult balance, trying to keep his voice low enough to not be overheard by Flo and Douglas and whoever else was in the house, yet loud enough that Paul could hear at the bottom of the tunnel.

There was a long pause. ". . . I think I am," the familiar voice came back at last.

Hamilton continued to shine the light in the well. "I can't see you," he said. "Are you hurt?"

"I fell on some mattress or something. I can see that light, but I can't see you." Footsteps echoed in the passageway and Paul half-limped into view. "I'm alright. It's just my pride that's bruised."

"Your leg doesn't look so well, either," Hamilton observed. "Is anything else down there?"

"You mean like a secret stash of jewels or narcotics? I don't see a thing. This room's empty except for the mattress." Paul walked away again. "There has to be a way up from here. They wouldn't just install a laundry chute and a mattress for the fun of it."

Hamilton glanced up at the window. "You'd better find the exit soon. We could both be heard any minute."

"Oh, you go on and get out of here," Paul said. "There's no sense in both of us being in danger. And like I said, there has to be a way out. I'll find it."

"If I go away, you won't have any light," Hamilton said.

"There isn't too much anyway. Hey, put my flashlight on the slide and send it down to me."

Hamilton gave the object a cursory look before doing as Paul requested. For a moment there was only silence, which did little to make him less anxious about this venture. "Did you get it?" he finally asked.

"Yeah. Thanks." Footsteps again. "Here's something."

The loud squeal of rusted hinges sent Hamilton jumping a mile and then some. "Paul, they'll hear!" he hissed.

There was no answer. Hamilton leaned over farther. "Paul?" He glowered at the tunnel. From his angle, he could see nothing. And now Paul was either keeping quiet or not there. Or unconscious.

Hamilton straightened, looking back the way he had come. No one in the Petersons' yard was near his location. Within a few minutes they would notice his absence and start searching. But if he went back to get someone, what would happen in the meantime? Paul might need help now.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. In a moment there was a click. "Hello?"

"Hello, Perry."

"Hamilton, where are you?" Perry exclaimed. "You've worried all of us."

"I heard Paul in trouble," Hamilton said. "He fell down a chute in the backyard of the house behind the Petersons'. Now he isn't answering me." He tensed, hearing a dreaded sound. "And someone's coming out of the house," he whispered. "I have to go." He hung up, slipping the phone into his pocket before Perry could demand further explanation.

Easing himself away from the trapdoor, he hid behind a bush at the back of the house. In the next moment he wanted to slap his forehead in exasperation. He had forgotten to pull the door back up. If anyone came back here, they would see it hanging open and know that someone had fallen in.

"There now, darling. Does that satisfy you?"

"No, but I guess it's going to have to do."

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. Flo's voice was higher-pitched, but she apparently had a similar speech pattern to Vivalene's.

"It was beyond low of you, to do what you did," Douglas snapped. "Faking your death by using Howie as your excuse."

"It was nothing personal. His toys _were_ in the way. I thought it would be the perfect way to make it seem like an accident."

"And then I paid your sister all that money to keep the story from getting out and making life sorrowful for Howie." Douglas sounded disgusted. "Was that really your only angle? This whole set-up, traumatizing an innocent boy, just to get blackmail money?"

"That's more Vivalene's style. I'm not like her; I'm in it for far higher stakes."

"_What_ higher stakes?" Douglas cried. "What else do you think I've got?"

"I'm sorry, darling; I can't tell you right now. You might use it against me. And I have to play my cards wisely."

Douglas stormed off. "I'm going around the block to my house," he growled.

"Just remember how bad things look for you," Flo called after him. "If you tell the police, you'll also have to mention the full extent of your past with my sister."

Hamilton could not hear Douglas's response. Judging from the tone of his voice, it was probably less consequential and more unrepeatable.

Now footsteps were coming towards the backyard. Again Hamilton looked towards the door. There were only a few seconds to make up his mind. What if Flo suspected that she had caught someone in her snare? Maybe she deliberately wanted to check the door.

Muttering to himself, Hamilton dove from behind the bush and climbed into the tunnel. Balancing himself against the narrow walls, he pushed the door up above his head until it clicked into place.

He had alerted Perry. Help would be coming before long. Right now he would find what had become of Paul.

xxxx

The furious knocking on Vivalene's front door at last resulted in a light turning on the living room. Pulling her light-blue nightgown closer around her, Vivalene made her way to the door and opened it halfway. "Good heavens, what's so important that you're bothering me at this time of night?" she greeted.

Her eyes widened in surprise at the unfamiliar sight of a young, brunet policeman. With a vaguely trembling hand he kept his drawn gun pointed at her.

"My name is Officer James Anderson," he said. Hatred and anguish flashed in his eyes. "I don't know how you did it, but I know you killed my cousin."


	14. Flo

**Notes: Say hello to Officer Johnson from **_**Highway Patrol.**_** I realize that they never specified what state the show took place in, but for several reasons I'm convinced it was California, in spite of a couple of offhand comments in various episodes that indicated otherwise.**

**Chapter Fourteen**

Vivalene was still staring at Jimmy in amazement and surprise following his announcement.

"I killed your cousin," she repeated. "And what on earth makes you believe such a thing?"

"Your accomplice confessed," Jimmy snapped. "Right at the last, he told the name of the person who shot Lieutenant Anderson down like a dog. He said your name."

Vivalene merely shrugged and stepped away from the door. "And you believe him," she said. "A dying man, already desperate to get back at me for the unfulfilled past. Why not frame me for murder?"

Jimmy wavered, but then gripped the gun all the tighter. "You were with Lieutenant Anderson right before that man came into your house," he said.

"And that private detective, Pete Kelton, admitted that I didn't leave the house after Andy ran out," Vivalene said. "I couldn't have shot him." She folded her arms over her chest.

"You don't have the right to call him _Andy_," Jimmy spat.

Vivalene tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, he was very friendly," she smirked. "I don't think he'd mind."

"He was doing a _job._ He didn't have any real interest in you!" Jimmy stayed where he was. But his flashing eyes told what he felt he would like to do.

Vivalene was still not worried. "Are you going to arrest me, Officer?" she said. "I'll sue for false arrest."

"There's enough to arrest you on suspicion of murder," Jimmy returned. "Before we have to release you for lack of evidence, we can find proof."

"And I'm going to see to that right now." Lieutenant Tragg stepped onto the porch, holding up a folded piece of paper. "This is a search warrant. You wanted me to get hold of one. Well, I have."

Vivalene spread her arms. "The house is yours, Lieutenant," she said. "You won't find a thing. I'll promise you that."

Tragg shook his head. "I don't have any faith in your promises. Jimmy, go ahead and read her rights."

"You're making a mistake, boys," Vivalene said. "Andy wouldn't like this."

Watching from the side of the room, Andy narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I would," he muttered.

He looked to Jimmy in concern. The boy had been keeping excellent control of himself, but Andy was still uneasy. If no proof could be found, Jimmy might snap and attack Vivalene while raging to know where she had hidden it. Andy was not even sure that Tragg would not be capable of such an assault. They had both been pushed to their limit tonight.

"If only I could reach them!" he cried in dismay. "If I could just let them know I'm alright and still here!"

Otto rested a hand on Andy's shoulder.

After a moment Andy glanced to him. ". . . Do you know if Vivalene really did shoot me?" he asked. "I thought after death people knew everything about their lives, but I don't know any more than I knew before I died."

"It's only during the life review that you find out everything," Otto said. "And that doesn't happen until you get to Heaven."

Andy gave a violent start. "I _am_ going to Heaven, aren't I?" he exclaimed.

Otto smiled. "If you're not, I can't imagine what kinds of people they're letting in these days."

He looked back to the scene. Jimmy had finished reading Vivalene's rights. Now he had snapped on the handcuffs and was leading her through the house in an attempt to catch up with Tragg.

". . . But I don't know if Vivalene is the one who shot you," Otto continued. "I saw the sniper, but the black cloak hid her face. After you were down, I stayed with you."

"I don't see how she could have done it," Andy said. "Yet her lackey confessed. And I don't know who else would have a motive."

"So far, we don't even know Vivalene's," Otto realized. "For all she knew, you were on her side. Why would she turn around and shoot you?"

Andy shook his head in despair. "I don't know," he said. "I just don't know."

xxxx

Hamilton tried to be careful how he landed, not wanting to jar his leg as Paul had his. The mattress was old and losing some stuffing, but it was not too bad where cushioning was concerned. Hamilton flew onto it without incident.

He sat up, groping in his briefcase for his own flashlight. The room was pitch-dark again. Either Paul's flashlight was turned off or simply not in the room.

"Paul?" Hamilton called, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. "Paul, where are you?" Finally locating his own flashlight, he clicked it on and surveyed the space. It was devoid of everything.

Hamilton exhaled in frustration. He was going to have to find the secret passage from scratch. He did not have time to go over the walls with a fine-toothed comb, but he had no choice.

He could have been searching for five minutes or fifty when he found a thin crack in a wall. It was perfectly even. Hopeful now, he pressed on and near it. At last it swung open, creaking horrendously as it had done for Paul. Hamilton stepped into the doorway, beaming the light around. "Paul?" he called. His voice echoed without response.

Well, there was certainly nowhere else to go. Hamilton walked farther inside, trying not to cringe as the panel groaned shut behind him. The tunnel ahead looked as though it stretched without end, and without any sign of anyone having come this way recently. "Paul!" Hamilton yelled again.

He took out his phone, hoping without hope that it would work. But it was as he had feared; _No Signal_ flashed across the screen. They were too far underground.

It was some time later when he stumbled across a fork in the road. The path to his left stopped, possibly bearing another secret panel. The path to his right continued. He turned to the left, starting to feel across the wall for a lever. He should see where this led, if anywhere.

Without warning it flew open, only barely missing him as he leaped aside. Paul re-entered the main tunnel, tensing as his light caught Hamilton's silhouette. "Who's in here?" he demanded.

"It's me," Hamilton said. "Paul, where were you?"

"You'll never guess." Paul gestured behind him. "This leads inside the Peterson mansion!"

Hamilton stared. "It does?"

"Yeah. Through that panel there's a stone staircase and a door at the top that comes out in their basement."

Hamilton frowned, looking to the right. "I wonder where this one goes."

"Let's find out," Paul said in determination. "This is all too weird to not tie in with things somehow. What are you doing down here, anyway? Did you fall in?"

"No, I didn't." Now Hamilton looked a bit awkward and embarrassed. "I thought maybe you were hurt when you didn't answer me." He shrugged, gesturing back the way he had come. "And Flo was walking into the backyard. I didn't have anywhere else to hide."

Paul raised an eyebrow, not sure what to make of at least the first part of that answer. ". . . You've been getting a crash course in playing detective lately," he said at last.

"I know," Hamilton said. "Usually I leave things up to my investigators and the police. But Mignon specifically asked for my help on this. Anyway, things have changed now. I have other reasons for wanting to investigate personally."

"Andy, right?" Paul surmised as they started walking.

"Well . . . yes." Hamilton stayed on guard, but the right-hand passageway seemed just as quiet as the one before it. His voice darkened. "I'd like to see one of his killers stand trial."

"This is something you'll probably never hear me say again," Paul said, "but if there's anything I can say to help, I'll be glad to testify for the state."

"Thank you," Hamilton said. "I'll keep that in mind."

xxxx

Perry was worried. He and Lieutenant Drumm had opted to follow up on Hamilton's message about Paul, while Tragg served the search warrant on Vivalene. But when they, Della, and two officers came into the yard via the gate, the only person around was a woman whom Perry identified instantly as Flo. She looked up from where she was inspecting part of the lawn.

"Who are you?" she asked, instantly on guard.

"I'm a police lieutenant," Drumm said, holding out his badge. "And this is Mr. Mason, an attorney, and Miss Street, his secretary. Is your name Florence?"

"Yes," she shrugged.

"Do you own this house?"

"Why, no," Flo said. "I'm just visiting."

"A few minutes ago, Mr. Mason received a telephone call that someone had fallen through a trapdoor on this property," Drumm said. "Now neither the door nor the caller is around."

"I can't help you, Lieutenant," Flo said. "I haven't seen anyone. And I've heard nothing about a secret trapdoor. I could be standing on it right now and I wouldn't know it."

Perry stepped forward. "Who does own this house?" he queried. "We need to find these people as soon as possible. They may be in grave danger."

"The owner is away," Flo said. "He asked me to check in occasionally, since I'm in town. So it's my call, and I give you permission even though I assume you don't have a warrant."

"Thank you," Drumm said. "May I inspect the ground where you're standing?"

"Of course." Flo stepped away and Drumm came forward, bending down to look over the grass for anything that indicated the presence of the door. The two officers spread out, searching opposite ends of the property. Della helped Perry as he began to examine another part of the yard while continuing conversation with Flo.

"Did you hear any strange noises tonight?" he asked.

"Not that I can recall," Flo said. "I had a visitor and I brought him here so we could talk while I conducted my nightly inspection of the house."

"Sources say that the visitor in question was Douglas Peterson," Perry said.

Flo started slightly but recovered. "Am I being followed?" she wanted to know.

Drumm glanced up. "You were followed from the hotel," he said. "Douglas Peterson is someone we've been trying to locate. Do you know where he's gone now?"

"No, I don't." Flo glanced back at the house. "If you don't need me, Lieutenant, I need to get back inside. I left something on the stove."

"Just one more question. Why were you meeting with Douglas Peterson?" Drumm looked up with narrowed eyes. "Weren't you hired as a nurse for the Peterson boy five years ago? A nurse who was supposedly killed by tripping over one of the boy's toys?"

"That's more than one question." Flo did not look pleased. "And answering will take a while. I really should check on my cocoa."

"Very well." Perry straightened. "Della and I will accompany you inside."

Seeing that there was no way out, Flo's lip curled in annoyance. "Alright then. Come on." She turned, walking swiftly towards the back door.

Della frowned as she watched. "I don't like her," she said when Flo was out of hearing range. "I'm sure she's just as wretched as Vivalene, even if she really doesn't know where Paul and Mr. Burger are."

Perry nodded. "She may be." He looked to Drumm. "I'll see what I can find out," he said, keeping his voice low. "Anything she says might be a lie."

"When she's related to Vivalene, it probably is," Drumm said in annoyance. "Wait, Perry. I think I've found the door!" He grasped hold of a portion of the lawn. It refused to lift up, but when he pushed it in it collapsed, revealing the tunnel beyond.

Perry hurried over. "Paul!" he called into the hole. "Hamilton!" His voice ricocheted off the narrow walls. There was no response.

Della's heart gathered speed. "Why don't they answer?" she berated.

"There could be several reasons," Perry said. "It doesn't mean they're hurt."

"I'll bring in some more officers and we'll go down," Drumm determined. "Meanwhile, I'll have Officer Johnson follow you and Della into the house, Perry."

Perry nodded. "Thank you, Steve." He straightened, but continued to look at the passageway with trepidation. Were Paul and Hamilton safe? Did the woman in the house know where they were, despite her denial of it?

Forcing himself to turn away, he walked to the house and to the back door. Once Della was inside, he followed. Officer Johnson trailed after them both.

Flo was standing at the stove, just as she had said. Not turning around, she stirred the contents of her kettle before lifting it off the hotplate. "I thought you were right behind me," she said. "Did something happen?"

"Yes," Perry said. "Lieutenant Drumm found the trapdoor."

"Bully for him." Flo finally turned around. "So now what?"

"We investigate," Perry said. "There's some patrol units at the Peterson house. Lieutenant Drumm is going to summon some of them here. Oh, and this is Officer Johnson from the Highway Patrol." Johnson nodded a greeting and said Hello.

Flo raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Hello, Officer. The Highway Patrol? My, everyone's getting involved."

"Yes, ma'am," Johnson said. "It's become a pretty important case."

"Because of that murdered policeman," Flo supplied.

"That's right. Anyone who would shoot down an armed police officer would be capable of shooting unarmed citizens too."

"Hmm. I never looked at it that way," Flo said. "It makes sense, I suppose.

"I hope you find your friends, Mr. Mason. Safe," she added.

"Is there a reason why they shouldn't be?" Perry returned.

"None at all, unless they were injured falling through that thing," Flo said. She poured herself a cup of cocoa and took a sip. "Imagine, it was there all this time and I never knew it. Do you want some cocoa?"

"No, thank you," Perry politely declined.

"None for me, either, thank you," Johnson said. Della refused as well.

Flo was not surprised. "You're probably too worried to think of a pleasure break," she said.

"I am worried," Perry agreed. "My friends have been investigating the mystery at the Peterson mansion. A woman named Vivalene seems to be involved." He looked at her with piercing eyes. "Is she your sister? Is she the reason you're in town right now?"

Flo was still perfectly calm. "She's my sister," she said. "I have no reason to deny it. But no, Mr. Mason, I didn't come here because of her. We don't get along very well, you see. To be honest, I could easily believe that Vivalene would sell me out if she could make a profit on it."

"Do you know if she has any involvement in what's been happening at the Petersons'?" Perry demanded.

"I don't know," Flo said. "I wouldn't be surprised; she has her finger in many pies."

Perry, Della, and Johnson all exchanged a look. "What about the incident at the Peterson home?" Perry asked. "You said you'd tell why you faked your death."

"Oh, that." Flo sat at the table and gestured boredly at the other chairs. "Sit down, all of you." They did so. Flo placed her mug on a mitt and leaned back. "To be perfectly frank, I was in some trouble and I needed a way out."

"What kind of trouble?" Johnson frowned. "It must have been pretty serious, to cause you to do what you did."

"Someone wanted to kill me," Flo said. "I decided to beat them to it." She smirked dryly.

"Why didn't you go to the police?" Perry peered at her, suspicious.

"It was a family matter," Flo said. "You see, the one who wanted to kill me was Vivalene."

xxxx

Tragg, Jimmy, and Vivalene gathered in the living room as Tragg wrapped up his search of the house. Vivalene, despite her current position in handcuffs, smirked at both policemen.

"Well, Arthur, I see you didn't find anything," she said. "What are you going to do now?"

"Take you down to the station for questioning," Tragg retorted. "You could have easily had the cloak and the rifle in your possession and done away with them just as you did Andy."

"And we'll give you a paraffin test, too," Jimmy added.

"What if I was wearing gloves?" Vivalene batted her eyes at him. Jimmy recoiled in disgust.

"What if you weren't," Tragg responded. "Come on, let's go. And don't think we're done here, either. I'm sending a team out to go over this house again."

"You don't trust your own abilities, Lieutenant?" Vivalene said. "Oh dear, that doesn't make me feel very secure as a tax-paying citizen. Maybe I shouldn't foot your salary."

"This house could have secret passages just as easily as the Petersons' next-door," Tragg said sternly. "Both homes were built around the same time. The experts I'll be sending out are highly skilled in finding such passages. If you have anything to hide, you won't for much longer!"

As if on cue, a horrible creaking sound started up from the direction of the fireplace. Tragg and Jimmy jumped a mile, drawing their guns as they spun to face it. Vivalene stiffened. If they had looked at her at that moment, they would have seen her eyes widening in first shock and then anger.

The fireplace swung aside the rest of the way, revealing a tunnel. And stepping out from the tunnel were Hamilton and Paul. They stopped, stunned to see where they were and who was looking back at them. But they swiftly recovered.

"Lieutenant . . ." Hamilton motioned to Paul. "I think you'll find this highly interesting."

Tragg looked back to Paul. Using a handkerchief wrapped around the barrel to protect fingerprints, Paul was holding out an expensive rifle. Now Tragg started to smirk.

"Yes," he said, giving the almost-frothing Vivalene another glance. "Yes, I think I will. I think ballistics will as well."

Vivalene was beyond furious. As Tragg took the weapon from Paul and began to look it over, she struggled against Jimmy's tight grasp.

"I don't know how that got there!" she ranted. "It isn't mine; it was planted. And I know who put it there, too." She looked back at Jimmy. "My loving sister Flo—that's who! Go pick her up and give _her_ a paraffin test. Do you know where the other end of this tunnel comes out? In an old house on the other side of the block that Flo has been using for some purpose of her own!"

Hamilton and Paul exchanged a glance. "That's right, it does," Paul confirmed.

"But can you tell us _why_ Flo would kill Lieutenant Anderson?" Hamilton asked of Vivalene, his eyes narrowed. "She never even met him. What motive could she possibly have?"

Vivalene's lips twisted in a cold sneer. "Well. Why not go over there and ask her?"

Tragg frowned. "We _should_ talk to her anyway, in light of these facts," he said. "If she's not a part of this, I would certainly like to know what other reason she could have for being in a house on this block. A house that just so happens to connect with this one."

"And to the Peterson mansion too, Lieutenant," Hamilton put in.

"_What?"_ Tragg burst out.

"That's right," Paul said. "There's a second passageway that comes out in the Petersons' basement."

Tragg considered this for all of a moment. "Alright then," he said with a sharp nod. "Let's all go around the block and pay a little visit to Miss Flo."

"You'll find your murderer there, Lieutenant," Vivalene said.

"We'll see," Tragg said, his tone gruff as they headed for the door.

Unseen and not sensed by anyone, Andy and Otto trailed after them. "Well?" Otto asked, looking to Andy. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Andy said. "I'm sure I never have met this Flo. But that doesn't mean she couldn't have a motive."

He hoped that all of this could be straightened out quickly. But once it was, and the murderer was revealed, what then? Would he have to take his leave of everyone and move on?

He would not think about it for now.


	15. Murderer

**Chapter Fifteen**

Both Perry and Officer Johnson had been left gobsmacked at Flo's matter-of-fact announcement. Despite his usual deadpan, Perry was visibly surprised.

"Vivalene wanted to kill you," he repeated. "Why?"

"Why else?" Flo shrugged. "It was all about the treasure. She didn't want me to get it instead of her. She didn't even particularly want to share it. She was going to murder me quietly and then sneak in and take my place."

"Did she say she wanted to kill you?" Officer Johnson spoke up.

"Yes, she did," Flo said.

"And she told you about this complex plot of hers," Perry put in.

"Yes."

Perry leaned back. "Don't you find that rather strange? That she would tell you in detail what she was going to do?"

"She knew I wouldn't go to the police. And she's very egotistical. She believed I wouldn't be able to challenge her. At the same time, I think she was curious to see what I would try." Flo smirked, sipping her cocoa again. "She regretted it when I completely ruined her plans for trying to take my place."

"So what about this treasure?" Perry said. "Were you interested in it, as Vivalene was and is?"

Flo played with an unused spoon setting on a napkin. "Mr. Mason, Vivalene and I are similar in many ways, but in others we differ. Vivalene doesn't think big enough. She's content to stop at money and jewels. She can't get enough of those things. She has no long-term ambitions, just those petty goals.

"I, on the other hand, want to make something of myself. I want power and position."

"That's very interesting, but it doesn't answer my question," Perry said. "What if you believed possessing the treasure would give you power and position?"

"Then I would want it." Flo placed the spoon in her mug and stirred the cocoa around. "However, I can assure you that I was not interested in it. Vivalene simply got it into her mind that I did. If she wasn't so paranoid she could have saved us both a great deal of trouble."

At that moment a knock came at the door. Johnson got up and went over, looking out the window. "It's Lieutenant Tragg," he announced.

"Well, let him in, I suppose," Flo said. "I have nothing to hide."

Johnson opened the door. But as an entire group entered the kitchen, Perry and Flo both stood in astonishment.

"What are you doing here?" Flo demanded of Vivalene.

"Paul! Hamilton!" Perry exclaimed. "What's going on?"

It took several minutes for explanations to be given from both parties. When at last they trouped into the living room in an attempt to sort it all out, it seemed that they were no closer to an answer than before. Each woman vehemently denied any involvement with Andy's murder.

"Vivalene must have been the one to do the deed," Flo said. "And, knowing that the passage leads to this house, she decided she could try to frame me!" She narrowed her eyes. "I don't know this Lieutenant Anderson. And I couldn't have shot him anyway; I was still at my hotel room at the time."

"Can you prove it?" Perry asked.

"Of course I can," Flo said. "The desk clerk will confirm I hadn't checked out yet."

"You could have sneaked out, shot Lieutenant Anderson, and gone back to the hotel without him even knowing that you'd left," Perry said.

"From the eighth floor?" Flo returned.

"Unless you're thinking of climbing over people's balconies to the ground, it could be done," Tragg said. "All you'd need is a stairwell and a service exit."

"You shot him because you were jealous he turned his affections to me," Vivalene spat.

"I didn't know him in the first place!" Flo said. "And you're the one who has a little problem with jealousy. You tried to kill Baby Face Morales when he was interested in that showgirl instead of you!"

"That's very interesting," Tragg said. "Mr. Burger, that ties Vivalene in with those reports we heard from Detroit."

"It does," Hamilton said. He narrowed his eyes. "Is this true?"

"It's a lie!" Vivalene said. "It was Flo who was part of the Morales gang and tried to murder him because of that floozy. She impersonated me!"

"Oh, this isn't getting us anywhere!" Jimmy burst out in despair. "Lieutenant Anderson's other murderer already said Vivalene was the sniper. I still believe that."

Perry frowned. "There has to be a way to get at the truth," he said.

"And we're going to work on that now," Tragg said. "Both of these girls are coming down to headquarters for questioning."

"And if you fail to find anything to hold us, then what?" Vivalene stood triumphant, certain of her eventual victory. "All you have on either of us is circumstantial."

"We'll see about that." Tragg took Flo's arm. "If you'll come with us, please."

"I'd be happy to," Flo said. "Anything to get this resolved."

But in the next instant thick smoke was filling the air. Perry coughed, covering his nose and mouth with one hand. His eyes were watering.

"Someone set off a smoke bomb!" Hamilton yelled. "That's one of Vivalene's favorite tricks!"

"Unfortunately, she's handcuffed at the moment!" Tragg reminded him, trying to feel his way through the fog.

"Then it must have been Flo!" Paul exclaimed. "Is she the murderer? Or are they in it together?"

Jimmy grabbed his flashlight, but not even the glow could do much to pierce through the heavy mists. "We have to spread out and look in every room!" he called. "They could be anywhere!"

"Including in the secret passageway," Perry said. "Come on!"

xxxx

She was running, skillfully using her knowledge of the house and its own passages to her advantage. Before the smoke was even close to clearing, she was far away from her captors.

A cruel smirk contorted her features. They would never catch her; she had eluded them and others like them so many times before. She had no intention of standing trial for that police lieutenant's murder. She had killed before and had not been linked to those crimes. It would be no different now.

It was ironic when, as she dashed onto a balcony on the second-story, intent on going down the fire escape, the old railing creaked and groaned and gave way under her weight. She shrieked as she tumbled downward. But at the last moment her death-ride was brought to a jerking halt. She was caught on the broken railing. Furious, she struggled and flailed against it. It was no use; it held fast.

"You should be grateful, Flo. You'd be dead now if it wasn't for that."

She looked up with a start, her eyes widening at the voice. "No!" she cried. "It can't be you. That's impossible!"

"Impossible?" Andy crossed his arms, looking down at her from his position on the balcony. "It isn't impossible. Right now, for you, the veil between the planes is very thin."

"It's your own fault you're dead!" she screamed at him. "You didn't stop to think that maybe we checked on you as well as Lieutenant Tragg. We knew you were close. You were entrapped when you were asked about him. When you said you weren't close, it was clear that it was a set up."

"And so you disguised yourself in the black cloak, slipped through the secret passageway in your house, and used the path into the Petersons' basement to get to their house without Paul Drake's man seeing you."

"That's right." She sneered at him. "But don't flatter yourself into thinking I only wanted _you_ dead."

He rocked back in surprise. "You wanted Vivalene's lackey dead?"

"If he was arrested, I knew he would talk," she spat. "Yes, I wanted him dead. I was hoping one bullet would get you both. If not, I was going to shoot him down after you were down."

"Then that's one more count of murder the district attorney will charge you with," Andy told her.

"I don't care what he does," she retorted. "I have one of the judges in my hip pocket. He will see to it that he presides over my case, because he knows it's worth his while."

"If you weren't worried, why did you try to escape?"

She tossed her head. "Because I'd rather not go through all that if I can help it," she said. "And there's no definite proof that I killed you."

"There's enough circumstantial evidence to warrant a conviction," Andy said.

She did not acknowledge that. "You know, it's a pity about you, Andy," she said. "We could have had good times together, if you hadn't been such an honest cop."

"What about if you hadn't killed me?" Andy returned.

"That too, I suppose," she shrugged.

Jimmy stepped onto the balcony, his eyes filled with pain and anger. "We've got more than circumstantial evidence," he said. "We've been listening just inside. You've been confessing you killed Lieutenant Anderson. And the guy who pushed him, too! But why are you acting like you're talking to Andy? What are you trying to pull now?"

She looked surprised. "You can't see him? He's right . . ." She trailed off. She was pointing directly at Andy, but Jimmy's expression was blank. He turned, sheet-white, as he stared at what he saw to be an empty space.

"Andy?" he choked out. "Andy, are you here?"

She threw back her head and laughed. "So I can see him and you can't. Isn't that insane."

The pain and sorrow visible in his own eyes, Andy reached out, laying a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "I'm here," he said. "I know you can't see or hear me, Jimmy, but I'll be watching over you from now on. Mama Norden and Lieutenant Tragg too."

Jimmy swallowed hard and shut his eyes. He could feel something, an otherworldly brush on his shoulder. "Oh Andy," he whispered.

"Well. So you're finally caught." Lieutenant Tragg stepped onto the balcony and smirked down at the hapless woman. "How lucky we are that your belt latched onto that railing, Flo."

"You're wrong, Lieutenant."

Everyone started at Perry's voice. "Huh?" Tragg frowned, staring Perry down as he came onto the balcony. "What are you talking about, Perry?"

"This isn't Flo," Perry said. "This is Vivalene, still pretending to be Flo even when we're not around. I believe you'll find that she's wearing a wig."

"Really?" Tragg leaned over the balcony, being careful of the railing as he unhooked the murderess and started to haul her up. Jimmy came over to assist. As soon as she was on solid ground Jimmy lashed out, grabbing her blonde hair. It came off in his hand. Underneath was a tumble of wavy red locks. Tragg's mouth fell open.

"Perry, what's going on here?" Hamilton exclaimed from the doorway, where he and the others were gathered. Lieutenant Drumm was restraining the original redhead, whom he had re-captured. Douglas, discovered by Pete Kelton upon Douglas's arrival at his house, was present as well.

"The two girls had a complex plot," Perry said. "They each wanted the treasure in the Peterson mansion and tried different schemes to get hold of it. Vivalene tried to manipulate Douglas Peterson into giving it to her, citing past blackmail she had extracted from him and threatening to go public with all of his secrets. Flo was the one who turned the house into Spook Alley. Both excellent at impersonating each other, they traded roles whenever they felt it suited them.

"But they were each trying to double-cross the other as well. Flo started first; she took Vivalene's earring two weeks ago and later planted it in the Petersons' basement with the skeletal finger. She was hoping the concrete part of the basement would be dug up because of it and she would be able to get a man of her own in there to search for the treasure.

"Tonight, Vivalene didn't want to be implicated in the murder, so she had the idea to frame Flo. After she entertained Andy at her home she used the secret passage to go to the Petersons' house and shoot both Andy and her henchman. Then, after hiding the rifle, she dressed as Flo and slipped out, back to the hotel. She's been playing Flo ever since. Likewise, Flo has been playing Vivalene since Lieutenant Tragg and Jimmy arrived at her house."

"But that doesn't make sense!" Paul cried. "She got herself arrested instead of the real Vivalene!"

Perry nodded. "She wasn't expecting the secret tunnel to be found," he said. "And she certainly wasn't expecting the sniper rifle to be found. What she intended was to be taken in for questioning and then released for lack of evidence. Then, when she was back as herself, she would see to it that evidence was found that would result in the real Vivalene being arrested."

Tragg was unconvinced. "But Perry, she was trying to throw the blame on 'Flo' when we arrested her," he said.

"Naturally she would say that," Perry said, "because the real Vivalene would have. But she never intended for any of the evidence to point back to herself. However, once the rifle was found, I believe she felt that the jig was up and that she would have to point the police to 'Flo', who was really Vivalene and really the murderer. Yet she didn't want to tell about the switcheroo, hence the accusing of 'Flo.'"

Officer Johnson frowned. "But this woman here, I suppose the real Vivalene, tried to throw the blame onto Vivalene too," he said, "when she was playing Flo. Was she thinking the same thing as Flo, accusing herself while planning that there wouldn't be any actual evidence pointing to her?"

"Yes, more or less. Vivalene's idea was to get Flo convicted, if the police thought Flo was Vivalene. Then Vivalene would take on her sister's identity and slip away."

Paul whistled and shook his head. "Oh brother."

Glowering, Hamilton reached and pulled the red wig off of the woman Drumm was restraining. A crop of short blonde curls were revealed.

"You're both going to be arrested," he snapped. "Flo, I'll charge you as an accessory to murder, among other things. And as for you, Vivalene, I think Detroit will be interested in trying you too."

Vivalene pouted. "Oh darling, I'm crushed."

"Save it," Hamilton said in disgust. "You're not fooling anyone. And I'll make sure that judge friend of yours doesn't preside over yours or Flo's trials."

Jimmy looked to Vivalene, not trying to hide his triumph. "Just think—if you hadn't tried to talk to Andy's spirit, we probably still wouldn't have a confession. As far as I'm concerned, Andy's the one who caught you."

Vivalene smirked at him. "I don't see him now. I wonder where he went."

"To a better place than you could ever hope to achieve," Tragg said darkly. "Let's go."

Standing to the side, watching as everyone began to file past, Andy gave a sigh of both relief and sadness. "The case is solved then," he said. "Except we still don't know why that man was killed by the highway."

"Give Mr. Mason another hour or two and he'll tell about that as well," Otto said with a smile.

"I don't think I have that much time." Andy held out his hands. "I feel something pulling, beckoning me." He looked to Otto. "Will you be coming with me? . . . Or . . . or will I be going on by myself?"

Otto was about to reply when he paused, tilting his head as though listening to someone only he could hear. He began to smile, but somehow it looked bittersweet.

"This is where we part ways," Otto said. "Don't worry; we'll see each other again someday. And I'll be watching over you until that day."

Andy stiffened, his expression turning to disbelieving shock. "Otto, what are you saying?" he gasped.

"You're going back, old friend," Otto said, resting his hands on Andy's shoulders. "They don't want you yet. And judging from what I was told just now, you've got a lot of years left."

Andy stared at him, unable to process what he was being told. "I . . . I'm going to live?" he said at last. "But I'm already dead. How . . ."

"I heard about a guy in Russia who came back to life after three days," Otto remarked. "And then there's Lazarus. I think they both have one up on you. You've only been gone an hour or two. Anyway, like I said, countless miracles happen every day." He pulled Andy close in a hug. "Get back there and give Mama and Jimmy and everyone else some more good news for tonight."

"Otto . . ." Andy shut his eyes tight, clutching at his friend and surrogate brother. "I'm grateful to have seen you again, even though it was like this."

"Same here. Tell Mama Hello for me," Otto said as he drew back.

Andy nodded. "Don't worry; I will."

For a moment he saw Otto watching him, smiling the way he remembered so well. Then Otto was gone, all was gone, and for a split-second everything was dark.

His eyes flew open at the same time he tried to fly off the cold slab. Instantly the pain stabbed through his wounds. He sank back with a groan. That had been a foolish, instinctive move.

A woman screamed. He turned, catching the alarmed gaze of a pathologist's assistant now backed against a shelf. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you. I . . ."

She pointed a shaking finger at him. "You're alive!" she wailed. "You were wheeled down here, and you've just been laying there, and . . . and . . . !"

"I truly am sorry," Andy said, wincing at her shrill voice. "Will you call Erna Norden, please? And James Anderson?" Jimmy could let Lieutenant Tragg and the others know. They were probably all still together.

She started to back towards the door. "First I have to call the doctor!" she retorted. She fled into the hall, her curly black hair bouncing against her neck. "Doctor, doctor! Someone's alive in the pathology lab! I . . . I mean someone who isn't supposed to be alive!"

Andy shook his head, turning to gaze at the bright ceiling. "I'm alive," he repeated to himself. It felt so surreal. He couldn't be alive, yet he was. How would Mama Norden and Jimmy and everyone else handle this shock?

"Thank You," he whispered, just before the doctor arrived. "Thank You."

xxxx

Within the hour Andy had been examined and returned to his room. He was quietly resting when the doorknob turned and the door flew open.

"Andy!" Mama Norden exclaimed, choked with emotion. "Oh Andy, it's really true! I couldn't believe it when the doctor called and said you had come back to us!" She ran to the bedside, crying tears of joy as she enveloped Andy in an embrace.

Andy held her close, his heart swelling with joy of his own. "It's alright, Mama," he said. "Everything's going to be alright now."

"Yes!" Mama Norden agreed. "It will be alright." She reached up, brushing his hair out of his eyes as it slipped down. "You will get well."

Andy watched her, considering what he was about to say and how best to say it. At last, speaking quietly and with soberness, he said, "Mama . . . I saw Otto."

She froze, staring at him with wide eyes. "Otto?" she gasped. "You saw my Otto?"

Andy nodded. "He says Hello." He smiled. "He's alright. And he's been watching over both of us. He says he's going to keep on with that."

Mama Norden was overcome now. She embraced Andy again, while fresh tears descended from her eyes. "Otto. Otto is safe," she whispered.

"Yes," Andy said. "Otto is safe."

He gazed off at the corner without focusing on it. He would never stop missing his friend, but he had been comforted in his knowledge. And Mama Norden had been as well.

It was not long before Jimmy, Lieutenant Tragg, and the others hurried into the room. "Andy!" Jimmy burst out, hugging him quickly but no less joyously before pulling back to look at him. "You were there, at the mansion. I know you were there. But now you're back! You came back!"

Andy laughed quietly, enjoying Jimmy's excitement and enthusiasm. It had wrenched his heart to see his cousin in such anguish.

"Yes, I was there," he admitted. "And I'm back. For a good long time too, I understand."

Tragg placed his hand on the bed's railing, joy as well as confusion in his eyes—as well as a fear that this was not real or that it would not last. "How?" he asked, his voice trembling. "How is this possible?"

Andy sobered as he met Tragg's gaze. "I don't know," he said. He placed his hand over Tragg's and gripped it. "As Otto put it, it's a miracle."

Tragg gripped Andy's hand, smiling at last. "He's right," he said. "Thank God. Oh, thank God!" There was so much in his mind, so many things he wanted to say, but he would wait until they were alone.

Della looked up at Perry. "Perry, this is wonderful," she said, her voice catching.

Perry smiled, bringing her close with one arm. "It is," he said fervently. "We thought we'd lost him. For a while, we did. And yet, perhaps, in another way we didn't. He stayed with us until Vivalene was arrested. And then he was sent back to be with us in body as well as in spirit."

"I don't get it," Paul said. "I'm glad to see him back, but I don't get how he is."

Perry glanced to him. "Some things aren't meant to be explained in every detail, Paul," he said. "Some things are meant to be accepted without question."

Hamilton had questions of his own. He certainly was not about to deny that. But as he observed and then took part in the large-scale reunion, he pushed them aside with a smile.

Perry was right. The most important thing here was that Andy was alive. They had not lost one of their own on this dark night. They were together, as they should be.


	16. Epilogue

**Notes: And my longest **_**Perry**_** story so far comes to a close. This has been a fun, wild ride! Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading! I have another story planned, which will likely tie in with this one a bit. If you're curious about what the basic plot will be, please drop by my blog, Parkavenuebeat, at Blogspot!**

**Epilogue**

"Well, Mignon, this case is officially solved and Flo's haunted house has been dismantled. It's safe for Howie and his parents to go home."

Mignon smiled. "Thank you, Hamilton."

"Oh, don't thank just me," Hamilton said. "I couldn't have done this without everyone else who got involved too." He shook his head. "Paul is getting a sizable check from my office. And he more than deserves it."

They were in Hamilton's office, where the case had been opened days earlier. Both Hamilton and Mignon were at peace with the outcome. Vivalene and Flo were both in jail. Their hearings had been set. And Hamilton had opened an investigation into the crooked judge.

"What about that poor man who was killed?" Mignon asked. "What was the purpose of that?"

Hamilton sighed. "As it turned out, that didn't have anything to do with our case, other than the killer himself. The victim was someone he had a grudge against. So he planned out the murder and finally put it into effect. And he mutilated the body in his hatred."

"That's abominable." Mignon shook her head. "I can't understand what enters the hearts of such people."

"I've been trying for years and I still can't," Hamilton said.

"Oh, how are the Petersons doing?" he wondered. "You mentioned that Douglas finally came clean."

"He did. Martha was more upset about Douglas having kept so many things from her then she was about his past," Mignon said. "But they're going to be fine."

"Good," Hamilton nodded. "Martha told me that she knew about the blackmail," he said after a moment.

"Yes," Mignon said. "What she didn't realize was that Douglas knew the woman blackmailing them.

"We were wrong about him withholding information because he was afraid of what would come out about him," she continued. "He was mostly using that as an excuse and a cover. He was mainly worried about Howie and what would happen if it got out about Vivalene's sister falling down the stairs due to one of Howie's toys. He didn't know she was even alive until he received a telephone call from a woman claiming to be Vivalene, directing him to the hotel where the real Vivalene was pretending to be Flo."

"And the person who called him was actually Flo," Hamilton finished. "I still don't understand what those women were trying to do."

"Douglas said that the faux Flo—Vivalene—wanted to discuss the price of the blackmail Vivalene had been making him pay. She told him that Vivalene was bored and had decided to go public with the story about her sister's 'death', of course leaving out the fact that it wasn't real. But there was a way to make them both go away for good."

"Handing over the treasure," Hamilton guessed.

"Yes. And Douglas finally agreed that it would be done, once he found it. He was made to promise that he would find it. I believe they thought he already knew and wouldn't tell them."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Hamilton said.

"How did Mr. Mason ever begin to suspect that they had switched places?" Mignon wondered.

"Well, he told me he started to get the idea when the girls themselves brought up the subject of impersonation. And he'd thought that 'Flo' acted the way Vivalene sometimes did when she was being aloof. He thought at first it just ran in the family. Then he started thinking maybe it didn't. It's all a confused mess. Their trials are going to be a headache."

"It's not a wonder.

"Do you know how Flo played her tricks in the Petersons' home?"

"That was really a piece of work," Hamilton said in annoyance. "One day when the Petersons were out, she had some of her men sneak in through the passage in the basement and slip things into secret compartments throughout the house, when they could find them. If they couldn't, they'd just cut the wall or ceiling open, stick something there, and fix it back, good as new."

"What kinds of things?" Mignon wondered.

"Oh . . . coolant coils to help with the cold spots . . . timed audio devices for the voices and shrieks. . . . Sometimes Flo snuck in herself to help things along. She was responsible for the scream Martha and Howie heard in the basement. She's as brazen and bold as her sister." Hamilton sighed. "I'm glad to hear this news about Douglas, though. That he wasn't just being cowardly and afraid of the information concerning him getting out, I mean."

Mignon nodded. "He made a bad choice in judgment, but he was always concerned for his family above all else. Apparently he honestly didn't believe Vivalene would abduct Howie."

"But she did. She confessed that she thought she could force Douglas's hand about the treasure if she was holding his son." The disgust in Hamilton's voice was clear.

"Have you captured the other man involved in the kidnapping?" Mignon queried.

"Yes," Hamilton said. "It took a while; the identification in the wallet Howie grabbed was fake. But the police tracked him down. He's confessed to everything he knows about what was going on."

"I'm glad," Mignon said.

"Oh, and he moonlighted for a while at Mr. Owen's barbershop," Hamilton put in. "He was the one who took the hair clippings for the voodoo dolls."

"I see. And what about Mr. Owen? You said Vivalene mentioned going to meet with him."

"She was just trying to throw our suspicions in his direction, since she knew we'd start looking into the barbershop." Hamilton moved a folder over on his desk. "How's Howie?"

"He's very happy," Mignon said, smiling a bit now. "He's always talking about how you and the others 'made the scary things stop.' He's even started to be more friendly with strangers."

"Oh really," Hamilton said in surprise.

Mignon nodded. "He's so excited, he wants to tell them about what's happened.

"How is Lieutenant Anderson?"

"He's doing very well," Hamilton said. "It'll probably take him a few weeks to fully get back on his feet, but he's home now."

That was an aspect of the case that still absolutely blew Hamilton's mind. Part of him wanted to say that the doctors had made a mistake, that Andy had never been dead.

And yet even he could not so much as try to say that was the explanation. Andy had described everything he had witnessed after his death in perfect detail. No one had told him. He had been there throughout the final twists of the investigation and the arrests.

Not to mention what had taken place earlier that night.

". . . That night, you said it was a miracle that Howie and I got away when we were being sniped at by Vivalene," he said.

"Yes. And you didn't even deny it," Mignon remarked.

"Well . . . I couldn't." Hamilton hesitated. "I heard a voice when I was running. It warned me out of the way just before I would have been shot in the back." He took a deep breath. "It was Andy's voice."

Mignon only quirked an eyebrow very slightly. "Then maybe in the future, Hamilton, you won't be so quick to dismiss things that seem to defy logic," she said.

"I still don't believe in voodoo, if that's what you're driving at," Hamilton was quick to interject. "Or that those dolls have any power. The most I'd be willing to give you is that if one of them is sent to an overly superstitious person, their sheer anxiety and belief that something will go wrong could cause their body to react likewise."

"That happens," Mignon conceded.

"But it isn't always what happens," Hamilton said. "That's the rest of what you mean, isn't it?"

Mignon just smiled. "There are many things in this world that you do not understand, Hamilton. The supernatural is one very large such category."

"Believe me, I'd be happy to never encounter anything supposedly supernatural again," Hamilton declared.

"That might prove difficult, if the Petersons ever locate that treasure," Mignon said.

Hamilton blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Douglas has finally seen both parts of the map," Mignon said. "And on the half Vivalene owns, it shows pictures of several objects that he believes are part of the treasure. One of them looks very similar to an ancient artifact that came into the possession of the Spanish many centuries ago. This artifact was said to bestow powers unimaginable upon the wielder."

Hamilton chuckled. "And Flo believed it," he said.

"Yes. And there is no proof that such an artifact doesn't exist."

"There's no proof that such an artifact works exactly as it's fabled to, either," Hamilton said. "I'm willing to admit that it, or something that looks like it, might be around. But it's probably just a musty old object that belongs in a museum."

"We will see. Douglas was considering not even trying to find the treasure, after all the trouble it's caused. But Martha convinced him that since they have the information from the other half of the map they should at least try. They could use the money."

"Do they know where to look?" Hamilton asked. "The top half of the map was pretty confusing."

"They have an idea," Mignon said, "but they're not sure. They're planning to try tomorrow." She rose. "Meanwhile, Hamilton, they wanted me to deliver a proposition to you. They thought it would be better this way rather than to spring it on you at the celebratory gathering tonight."

Hamilton got to his feet as well. "What do you mean?" he asked in surprise.

"Martha and Douglas both see how taken Howie is with you," Mignon said, "and how staunchly you tried to protect him. They're both grateful."

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "Douglas doesn't hold any hard feelings, after what I said to him at the hospital?"

Mignon shook her head. "It made him admire you more," she said. "It did look bad for him, especially since he deliberately furthered and refused to refute the idea that he was just afraid for himself. He recognized that you were sincerely concerned about Howie's welfare when you lost your temper with him. When all was said and done, he had an idea. He and Martha discussed it and then brought it to me. They're hoping you will consider and accept it.

"They want you to be Howie's godfather."

Hamilton rocked back. Of all things Mignon could have said, that was something he had never expected in a million years. "They want me to _what?_" Mignon waited patiently while he tried to work that out in his mind. "Mignon, I hardly ever interact with kids."

"That doesn't matter to them," Mignon said. "They feel you handle Howie just fine."

Hamilton shook his head, overwhelmed. "I wouldn't know what to say or do."

"Then you could learn." Mignon looked at him. "Hamilton, I'm not telling you what to do. But it would mean a great deal to the Petersons. And Howie loves you. It would make him very happy."

Hamilton ran a hand through his hair. "It's a lot to take in."

"I know it is. But I believe in you."

"I'll think about it," Hamilton promised. "I'm honored that they'd think of me. I'm just bowled over at the same time."

Mignon smiled. "Then shall we go?"

Hamilton nodded, grabbing his hat off the rack. "After you," he said.


End file.
